


Between The Bars

by Mikimoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of suspicious deaths at South Haven Penitentiary are being ignored by the authorities, but have attracted the attention of various other parties. </p><p>OR: </p><p>That one time Dick and Jason accidentally ended up undercover on the same mission and started a riot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Mellissa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pentapus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentapus/gifts).



> The first few chapters are outsider POV, so assumed names abound - hopefully it should be fairly easy to work out who is who... But if you are desperate to know in advance: then spoilers in end notes of chapter 10 :)
> 
> I hope you like it! This fic sort of ran away with me... but should be finished fairly soon!
> 
> WARNINGS: some serious subject matter due to the setting: violence and some reference to non-con [not explicit] and racism [no explicit or violent racist language]

Mellissa tapped her pen rapidly against the table. Her jaw hurt and one of her molars was loose due to a violent collision with a flying shoe. Her hair was singed and her fingers and palms scraped raw.

She honestly wasn’t sure if she felt traumatized, shell shocked or exhilarated; elated with stunned success. Perhaps it was all of them - a quick-change kaleidoscope of emotion. She’d had a startling insight into why people put their lives on the line to make a difference to the world. Why women like Lois Lane were willing to risk everything for the chance to showcase the injustices happening away from the public eye.

Mellissa figured it was a bit late to change her PHD, but not her career; investigative journalist had a nice ring to it…. if she ever got up the courage to leave the house again.

The tapping of her pen intensified.

She had to document everything that had happened in the last few weeks, everything she had seen and discovered.

Well, perhaps not everything. She looked at the white card with a number printed on it. She had tried using White Pages to find out the true identity of the young woman who had given it to her, but it didn’t appear to exist _._

_“If you need anything, if you’re ever in trouble – or you ever dig up something like this again – call. Ask for Sophie.”_

Melissa strongly suspected ‘Sophie’ was an alias, but for whom she wasn’t sure.

She flicked on her Dictaphone; better try to order her thoughts while they were still fresh:

_My name is Melissa Kim. I have spent the last six months collecting data from prisons across the east coast of the United States, interviewing inmates and reading though records. My brief was to assess the psychological impact on young men in the prison system, both first time offenders and those who have a history of incarceration._

_One of the individuals I interviewed over the course of a month was in and out of Gotham County as regular as clockwork. Henry Martinez was a career criminal with a record that went back to his pre-teen years. He proved to be a good subject, as he was affable and eager to talk about his experiences in the system and the events in his life that may have led to the poor choices made in his youth._

_The Gotham prison system is notoriously volatile and, due to an incident involving an explosion at the main jail, the inmates had to be moved to other facilities in the surrounding area. The overcrowding meant the overflow went as far as Bludhaven._

 

Mellissa stopped and took a few calming breaths. She had known things might take a bad turn, she had known she was going into a dangerous place – Bludhaven had a reputation even worse than Gotham, and its prisons reflected that. But she had not realized the full extent of it. How could she?

Her hand was shaking as she started recording again:

 

_Martinez was one of the unlucky ones who were sent to Haven South, one of the smaller, older State prisons serving the Haven area, including Bludhaven itself. I felt it would be beneficial to continue to speak with Martinez in his new environment._

_After a few frustrating weeks of trying to gain access, I discovered Martinez had been killed during his first week. Shocked, I contacted his only living relative, his sister, Theresa. She told me that her request for an autopsy had been denied and her brother’s body had already been cremated. This went against all regulations and at Ms. Martinez request I decided to dig deeper. What I found was a staggering amount of unexplained deaths within that one facility, and a complete lack of any sort of inquest. The prison board didn’t care, the police didn’t care – and any family members of the victims were voices nobody cared to listen to._

_I spoke to my dean, and he agreed to use his and the college’s influence to help me gain access. It turned out I was not alone in noticing something was amiss in South Haven, but none of the players in the drama about to unfold could have guessed just how explosive our investigations would get…._


	2. Nicola

“New assistant, Dr. Kay?” Officer Russell asked as he passed, sending an appreciative glance at the fresh faced, slightly apprehensive slip of a girl they had sent to cover for Raul.

“Eyes front, Officer,” Nicola replied. Resisting the urge to rub her aching head. “We’re about to have our hands full.”

Dr. Nicola Kay was not looking forward to intake - a fresh wave of inmates to South Haven, some new and some familiar faces. For the most part they ignored her old bones as she gave them a cursory exam and took pictures of any gang tattoos. But having the new girl here was an unknown quantity. Being a woman in a male facility came with its own set of challenges and the first few days tended to test your mettle. Added to that, the girl barely looked old enough to drink. In fact, if she hadn’t seen her papers herself, Nicola would have suspected she was still in her teens; bright eyed, bushy tailed and still burdened with all the optimism of youth.

Nicola sighed and waved the first one in.

 

Three hours later the influx was thinning out and Nicola was starting to think she might get to eat lunch sometime in the next decade.

“Next!” she said brusquely.

The young man who handed over his paperwork gave her a cocky smile that was clearly attempting to hide his fear. A sensible emotion to have coming in to this prison – even before the increase in violent deaths it had a well-deserved reputation for gang violence and predation.

“First time?” she asked, glancing at his name; Ricky Johnson. As normal as they came.

“Yeah. Got any pointers for a newbie?” He smiled again. There might have been a dimple under the black stubble on his cheeks. He was absently scratching at the new growth like it was unfamiliar and Nicola suspected he had grown it out with the sole intention of trying to make himself look older or harder. It wasn’t altogether successful and he just looked young, pretty and nervous.

“Keep your head down, learn the rules and stick to them,” Nicola offered after a moment.

“Your rules or theirs?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely curious.

“Both. Strip to the waist and hop up on the table.”

The kid had a lot of tattoos, covering his olive skin in black swirl’s and patterns. Nicola gestured for the new girl to stop gawking and pick up the camera.

Johnson fidgeted under her scrutiny. “Any gang affiliations?” she asked as she tried to decipher his scrawled medical history.

“Nope.”

“Maybe you should get some,” she muttered, her attention mostly on her work as she started her physical exam. There was something off about some of the tattoos, and it was bugging her.

“That’s an odd thing for a prison worker to say,” Johnson said, breaking her concentration slightly. He sounded scandalized.

“In this jail, having friends – even violent, murderous ones is what will keep you alive.” She reached out a finger and touched a tattoo just below his clavicle. The flesh beneath it was puckered and ridged. A scar? A burn maybe? It was roundish, it could be from a cigar. Or it could be a bullet wound. It was hard to tell with the ink over it and Johnson twitching about like her touch scalded him, his skin jumping beneath her gloved fingers.

“Got a lot of scars for a guy not involved in organized violence.” And yeah, she was fishing – but information was not easy to come by for a lot of inmates, and the more history she knew the easier treatment was.

“I had an interesting childhood,” his voice was light, but his body language was screaming at avoidance. A burn scar then, it infuriated her how many abused kids ended up here. Either though addiction or a continuation of the violence that had blighted their childhoods.

Her theory seemed to hold true as she gave his teeth and gums a once over – lots of dental work, including a fixed plate holding in numerous false teeth – very good, very expensive work that would have to have been completed after he finished growing. An oddity, but she supposed it wasn’t just the poor that got abused as kids.

“Expensive plates you have here. Don’t usually see such fine dental work in the ‘Haven.”

Johnson made a complicated facial expression – embarrassment, distaste, bravado.

“Found myself a rich benefactor.” He shrugged. “Didn’t really work out. I’m more the independent type, and he had some quirks that didn’t agree with me.”

“You a homosexual?” she asked sharply.

Johnson shrugged again, casual. But the look in his narrowed blue eyes was assessing. “I’m whatever I have to be.”

“Word of advice, keep that to yourself. Lots of people don’t like gays in here.”

“You one of them?”

Nicola snorted, “I don’t give a crap as long as it’s consensual – but they get prayed on in this place, you hear me? And your face is not going to do you any favors. You get in any trouble come see me and I will try and get you transferred to Protective Custody.”

He looked troubled, thoughtful. “Yes ma’am. Thanks.”

After the kid had left Nicola noticed the new girl still watching the door, her lips pursed and her expression pensive.

“Nothing but trouble in getting attached, Sophia,” Nicola said. “A pretty face is not worth your job or your life – not even worth the loss of a night’s sleep.”

“Says you with your motherly advice,” Sophia said, showing her a cheeky smile.

“You watch your sass,” Nicola said, her voice hard. But she couldn’t keep the smile from showing and the girl grinned back at her.

“Yes, ma’am!” Sophia parroted Johnson. Then she sobered “Do you think he’s likely to be victimized?”

“Honestly? He couldn’t be a better candidate for trouble if he tried. Young, attractive, queer, unaffiliated?” She sighed. It wasn’t an easy job. Especially not here it seemed. Nicola struggled for the words. Doing nothing, being unable to help, that was the worst part of this job, worse than the abuse, the sexist, threatening comments, the aggressive racism. Those things she could do something about. What was happening here was out of her control entirely.

“I’ve worked in the system for nearly twenty years, and it takes a while to get a feel for a new institution, just like with any job. But I have worked at South Haven for exactly three months and two days, and I already know the things that are going to get these kids killed. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” She bit her tongue – no point in putting herself in the line of fire, and definitely no point in putting Sophia in danger.

“Can’t you tell someone? Help change things?” the girl asked, wide eyed and honest looking.

“I’ve tried,” Nicola admitted. “Nobody has done a damn thing.” She busied herself with shuffling though the paperwork for the last half dozen inmates.

Sophia sat and her desk and picked up a pen to make some quick notes on the last boys file.

“I’ve heard rumors,” she left that hanging and Nicola shot her a look.

“Lots of rumors here, some of them true – all of them can get you in trouble. You want to stay safe, keep your job? You keep your rumors to yourself – you hear anything, we can discuss it over breakfast before shift. In the meantime, you want to do some good? Help treat these men, even the awful ones. And keep your eyes open.”

“Good advice Dr. Kay, I’ll do that.” Sophia went back to her notes, occasionally humming or fidgeting, sometimes flicking off one regulation rubber soled shoe with the toe of the other. Nicola liked her attitude; she could do a lot worse in an assistant. She hid an amused smile as she noticed, despite her immaculate uniform, the girl was wearing a very _un_ -regulation pair of purple socks.


	3. TJ

TJ was having a smoke with a white supremacist. Not something he had ever imagined himself doing, and something that could get the two of them killed if seen by the wrong people. But despite his impressive array of tats, Sean Wolff was not like the rest of the Aryan shitheads. Hell, half the time he didn’t even seem to like them much. He had no real affiliation with them outside of jail as far as TJ knew.

Although they were hardly best buddies, he knew Sean from the streets - he was scary, but cool, for the most part.

TJ looked at him to find Sean’s cold pale eyes watching him and he repressed a shudder. Definitely scary. He might not be your usual racist asshole, but he was violent, hard as nails and had a brutal reputation. TJ was a nobody and would normally not even be a blip on someone like Sean’s radar. But they shared an affiliation of their own – and a secret that had gotten two people killed already.

Martinez had died messy, but Asher had died worse – old as he had been, a harmless drunk with a surprisingly sharp mind, ripped apart like a bait dog. He and Sean were just waiting their turn.

 _If_ Martinez had talked before he died.

God … TJ hoped he hadn’t talked.

“Got anything for me?” Sean asked, breaking the silence and making TJ jump, although he covered it well.

“Nope, nothing he would be interested in, nothing you don’t know.”

Sean sniffed and took a pull on his cigarette, but he nodded, apparently satisfied.

TJ shifted uncomfortably. If Martinez had squealed, he was a dead man walking – but if he hadn’t, maybe it was time to test the waters for cutting ties.

“Look, Sean,” TJ said, haltingly, “You know I’m his man right? You know I give good intel.”

“Get paid for it too, just like me.” Sean’s voice was as glacial as his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I don’t have any issue with that – outside it even gives me a level of cred. No one messes with someone on the Red Hoods pay roll.”

“Say that a little louder, TJ, I don’t think they heard you the other end of the yard.”

“Sorry. But, the rules are different in here and I don’t want to get killed for some guy I never even met, you get me?”

“I get you. And you won’t.”

“You seem pretty sure of that. Seems to me your head is on the block same as mine if Martinez opened his blabber mouth.”

“I can take care of myself.” Sean flicked ash from his cigarette and they watched it drift away on the biting cold breeze.

“You, say that because you didn’t see Martinez die,” TJ said quietly, he repressed a shudder. “And you didn’t have to see what was left of old Ash.”

Sean’s face shuttered closed at the mention of the old man. Interesting. Martinez was all business but Asher’s death was personal to him in some way. Odd for a white gang member and an old black drunk to be buddies.

Hard times made strange bedfellows. Maybe.

Sean stubbed out his cigarette as the yard doors opened and bunch of new inmates trooped past. TJ stepped back, so as not to be spotted but Sean leaned forward, squinting at the unruly procession of prisoners.

“Son of a bitch,” he ground out at last, and he looked _pissed_.

“Someone you know?”

Sean just looked at him, cold blue-green eyes black and terrifying, like he wasn’t even seeing TJ standing there.

“Trouble on two legs,” Sean muttered at last. “Just here to make my life difficult.” He was still glaring at the fresh meat parading up the yard.

TJ was kind of glad that anger was not directed at him. He was going to have enough trouble staying alive without Sean’s ire. But he was pretty sure that lady luck was going to come toss him into the wind, and he was going to get his ass mixed up in Sean’s business whether he liked it or not. Call it a premonition, or call it bitter experience. Either way TJ was pretty sure this week was going to suck.


	4. Nicola

Officer Russell dropped off Nicola’s morning appointments looking like he had been chewing sour grapes. And judging from the paperwork he shoved at her, she could see why. He parked his rear up against her desk and she scowled at him.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Yeah I do, actually. The warden tells me we have to let that silly therapy girl in to interview inmates. Its madness – she’s not trained to deal with the kind of people we’ve got here.”

“That silly girl has more education under her belt than you and the rest of staff combined – excluding me, of course.”

He smirked at her. “Yeah whatever. Don’t need a degree to herd morons.”

“These days you do.”

He made a loud snorting noise, as inelegant as the man himself. Then he shifted uncomfortably, and his craggy face fell back into an irritated scowl. “I have the first wave of injured for ya,” He began, gruffly.

“Any serious?”

“A few. Some never even got to gen-pop before getting beat up.”

Nicola nodded. This was not exactly news, and she was curious to see what the old dog was actually working himself up to say.

He scowled some more as he wrestled with his words.

“I was just thinking, as Protective Custody don’t seem to be doing much protecting lately, maybe we could send some of the at risk ones to see that silly –sorry - _smart_ girl. So they got someone to talk to, you understand?”

“I do understand.” Nicola nodded. That sounded like a pretty damn good idea. With an outsider in contact with the inmates daily, then ‘accidents’ were less likely to happen.

Jack Russell was a cantankerous, irreverent, ignorant old fart, but he was an honest one. He was one of the few officers in South Haven that she was certain was not involved in whatever horrors happened here overnight, when she was off duty. In his own, rude and obnoxious way he cared about justice, and as a consequence, he cared about his prisoners.

“I’ll see what I can do, Jack.”

He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll send the first one in.”

It did not surprise her one bit to find Ricky Johnson as her first appointment. He had clearly been in a fight, despite being one of the prisoners that had not been assigned a cell in the main jail yet. There was an impressive bruise spreading over one cheekbone and a split lip puffing up his mouth.

“First night didn’t go so well?” Nicola asked, she didn’t bother gentling her voice – most of the men didn’t respond positively to perceived pity.

He shrugged, looking at his hands. His knuckles were un-bruised. He hadn’t fought back.

“Were you assaulted? Do I need to give you an exam?”

He shook his head. His expression was pensive but he didn’t have the obvious glassy look of trauma – that didn’t mean something bad hadn’t gone down though, some of these kids didn’t even _realize_ they were traumatized.

She busied herself cleaning his lip. “I know it’s upsetting. But it’s in your best interest to tell me – I can give you anti-virals in case of infection and I can help get you into Protective Custody if you make a report.” PC wasn’t all it was cracked up to be though; it certainly hadn’t saved all of the men she had sent there.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. It was a bad night, but I held my own.” Johnson offered her a tremulous smile, wincing as it pulled at his lip. “I appreciate you asking though. Being out there really lets you know how alone you really are.”

“Alright, your choice.” She ushered him up – no point in pressuring the boy.

The CO that came to take the kid back to his cell was the opposite of Jack: Young, bright, and as crooked as they came. He smirked at Johnson who stopped attempting to flirt with Sophia and averted his eyes.

“Officer Williams,” she greeted him cautiously, keeping an eye on Johnson’s face. The boy flinched slightly at the CO’s name, and Nicolas suspicion grew – another likely scenario as to why Johnson hadn’t fought back when attacked was self-preservation.

Like if the man attacking him had been a guard.

“Up,” Williams barked at the boy, and the kid obediently held out his wrists to be cuffed. Williams smirked, more interested in the prisoners fear than the two women in the room watching him intently.

She wondered what the kid had done to piss the guy off, or if he had just presented as a weak target. She wondered if there was a damn thing she could do to help.

“Officer Williams,” she heard herself say, “this prisoner is to be transferred to B wing. He’s been selected to take part in the CDS project.” Perhaps Jack had been right. Maybe an outside witness could keep these dumb kids alive in this shit-hole.

Johnson looked surprised and intrigued and Williams looked pissed. It might not save him in the long run, but it might buy him some time.

It had to be worth a shot.


	5. TJ

Most times TJ liked being right, he was smart and he had good instincts, if it wasn’t for his sticky fingers he might have had a good head for business. But on this occasion being right sucked.

“Not being funny, Officer Russell, but I didn’t sign up for any special project.” It would be fair to say that TJ was feeling a bit apprehensive about being moved. Change was not good … change meant you might get yourself killed at the next given moment.

“My heart bleeds for you,” Russell said, “you got a problem? Write to the governor. Hell, write to the President if you want. Tell him I want a raise while you’re at it.”

“I was happy in my old cell!”

“I don’t give a monkeys turd if you thought it was the fucking Hilton, you’re moving.”

TJ clutched his gear tighter, he really hoped it wasn’t as bad as he feared.

 

It wasn’t as bad as he feared - it was worse. Not only were there five cons to a two man cell, but Sean and two other angry looking white boys appeared to have arrived ahead of him. TJ was somewhat confident Sean wouldn’t kill him in his sleep, but Spencer – big bald and a bully, had it in for anyone not lily-white. He didn’t know the other guy by name, but he didn’t look like a bundle of laughs. The only other occupant of the cell was some fish, good looking and scowling with a big-ass bruise on his face. He was hunched on one of the lower bunks and surreptitiously watching the three white gang members sharing the cell. Sean was glaring openly at the guy, but swung his furious gaze at TJ as he walked through the door.

“Sort your selves out, boys,” Officer Russell smirked at them. Before shutting the door to their cell with an air of satisfaction.

There was a long tense moment, TJ held his own under Sean’s stare – but tried to keep his body language neutral, no point in kicking anything off. The tension was making his heart race.

“Singles mine,” Spencer declared to the cell in general, breaking the silence. TJ was grateful for the interruption, and he averted his eyes from Sean’s icy stare to watch as Spencer claimed the only single bed in the room. TJ resigned himself to getting a top bunk, and was kind of hoping to get the one above Sean, at least then he was unlikely to be shanked in his sleep – or worse. Sean wasn’t that kind of predator – in fact, he seemed to take quite a lot of pleasure in wiping the floor with rapos of all kinds. Keeping that in mind, TJ hung back to see where the others would put themselves. The fish he could probably take if it came to it, the guy wasn’t all that big and he looked like he had already lost a fight or two.

He was glad he held back though, as he was forced to revaluate slightly as he watched Sean approach the newbie to claim the bottom bunk from him. The guy didn’t move, just stared up at Sean as he came closer, menace in every step.

“This spots mine, fish,” Sean said.

“Name’s Ricky.”

“Name’s going to be dead meat if you don’t get your ass off my bunk, _fish,_ ” Sean said, looming above Ricky threateningly. If Ricky had an ounce of sense he would have backed down, but nope, it seemed like he was going die today instead.

TJ wasn’t some pussy, he could hold his own in a fight and wasn’t afraid to stand up for himself, but there was something about Sean that set off multiple alarms. It wasn’t that the man had ever threatened him, in jail or on the streets, and it wasn’t that TJ suspected the guy was quite high up in the Red Hoods network. He just knew if he crossed him he would be dead, buried and forgotten before he could blink.

Ricky, however appeared to have all the self-preservation of the proverbial lemming.

“It’s my bunk, I was here first,” he said, sticking out his lower jaw like a little kid sizing up another in the playground.

“Because you’re new, I’m gonna tell you one more time, and then this is going to get nasty. Get off my bed, _punk._ ”

TJ winced. Fish, while not exactly a polite term, was fairly neutral. Punk was not. It was not a good label to have in any prison, but one as lawless as this was worse. In jail, it was important for every man to stand up for himself, to deal with any threats or disrespect quickly and often violently - if you didn’t, you would not only lose face, but show yourself as weak. As prey. That being said, you really had to pick your battles with some caution or you might get shanked on your first day. It was a fine and complicated line to dance across. As far as TJ could see, Ricky was not so much as dancing across it, as stomping out his own death march.

Ricky stood, still attempting to stare Sean down. Toe to toe, Sean had a good few inches and a fair amount of muscle on his side.

But then, Ricky was clearly insane, either that or too stupid to live. It could go either way really. TJ glanced at their other cellmates, watching with interest. The new guy wasn’t the only one who could lose face here. There was a long, agonizingly quiet moment before Ricky dropped his eyes and stepped aside.

“ _Good_ boy,” Sean said, with far more satisfaction than the action warranted. Ricky shot him a murderous look from under his lashes before jumping effortlessly into the top bunk and laying down, eyes to the ceiling.

Sean smirked and slid into his own bed. TJ was now faced with an uncomfortable choice, go sleep above the as yet unnamed Aryan shithead, or challenge crazy Ricky. Neither were good options as far as he could see.

He opted for the path of least resistance, getting his ass whooped by some new kid would be an embarrassment more likely to get him in trouble than sleeping above a possible enemy.

“Don’t worry, TJ,” Sean said, as the lights went out. “Bill’s going to be a good bunk-mate, ain’t that right, Bill?”

“If ya say so,” Bill agreed, sounding slightly disappointed.

TJ felt _so_ reassured. He slept with his blade under his pillow that night.


	6. Mellissa

_It didn’t take me long to realize there was a serious cover-up at South Haven, but the nature of it still eluded me. I knew that either the inmates were getting away with murdering each other because of neglectful practices inside the jail – or the staff were more than just complicit in the killings._

_I debated going to the police, but due to the inaction of the Bludhaven force after complaints from the families I decided that the best option would be to try and get some concrete evidence. And if the cops still wouldn’t listen, I would go public._

_With this in mind I gathered as much information on the deceased and their charges. I had a great deal of help from friends and family of the alleged victims – the authorities had let them down, and I was the only person who was listening to them._

_It seemed that the victims had certain things in common: they were mostly from poor backgrounds, mostly under thirty five years of age. They were not affiliated with gangs either inside or outside of the jail. Only 15% of those killed had been white. 65% had resisted arrest or were arrested for harming a law enforcement officer._

_At first I believed that the men who did not fit into these categories were just the random victims of violence one expects in a jail like South Haven, until Theresa Martinez revealed something about her brother that may have made him a target: He was an informant. Not for the cops, but for the vigilantes of Gotham. I soon discovered he was not the only one._

_So when I gained access to the prison, I came armed with a profile and rumors from various sources. Using this, I selected men that seemed to fit the most parameters. It was easy, there were lots to choose from._

_But I now suspect some of them fit my profile simply because they intended it that way._

 


	7. TJ

“What’s TJ stand for?” Crazy Ricky asked, about two centimeters from TJ’s ear, making him jump.

“What’s it to you, fish?” TJ managed, shuffling forward in the chow line, but keeping a wary eye on his cellmate.

“Just curious. No one’s bothered to introduce themselves – I know we’re hardly going to be BFF’s or braid each other’s hair, but it would be nice to have more conversation than; ‘shut up, fish’ or fuck off, pretty boy’.

TJ snorted as he held out his tray for some grey and yellow slop that might have been masquerading as ham and eggs. “Everyone just calls me TJ, and you’re Ricky Johnson. There we go, introductions over.”

Crazy Ricky followed TJ as he left the line and headed for his usual table. “TJ it is,” he said, grinning. “What about the rest of our cellies? I only caught the name of that charmer Bill.”

TJ sighed. It didn’t look like he was going to shake his new bestie off any time soon. Maybe that was for the best – an alliance might be useful in case anything happened to Sean and he was left at the mercy of the other two meat-heads. “The guy in the single bunk is Spencer Morris – keep away from him, and when you do interact be polite, he has a lot of powerful friends.”

“The Doctor as much as implied I should join a gang,” Ricky said.

“Good luck with that. I for one don’t have any desire to – people know me, they leave me alone mostly because I got a few people on the outside that can get a bit on contraband in, you know? So I’m useful.” He shoveled in a mouthful of eggs. “You however, you look like you just walked of the set of a fashion shoot, bruise and all. Not a good look for prison.”

Ricky shrugged again, and TJ couldn’t help but feel that Crazy Ricky was a good name for him – his lack of fear and ready smile was, frankly, nuts.

Ricky poked dubiously at his breakfast, before lifting a philosophical shoulder and shoving the first mouthful in. “What about the other guy, the one in my bunk?” he asked with his mouth full, “What’s his story?”

“Sean Wolff. He’s decent, considering. But he’s also a violent son of a bitch and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. You should tread carefully after your performance yesterday.” Even as he spoke, TJ noticed that Ricky was staring across the dining hall straight at Sean and Sean was staring right back, his expression blank and cool. TJ couldn’t help feeling he was missing something, but he really wasn’t sure what.

“Thanks for the advice” Ricky said, “I’ll be careful.”

 

Ricky was not careful, and TJ was pretty sure it was him rather than Sean that was going to get him killed.

After breakfast, they were released into the yard for a blissful hour of fresh air and patchy sunlight. TJ headed for the benches to set up shop. He had a carton of cigarettes and a pouch of tobacco to be offering today, and a change of cell and a pretty-boy shadow wasn’t going to stop him cashing in.

“How much you charge for those?” Ricky said, looking interested. “Is this the only contraband you’ve got or do you get harder stuff?”

“I don’t deal in drugs, if that’s what you mean, but I can get things. Stuff like porn – not much, but a few pussy pics, you know? And I got both the motors for the Mercs’ tattoo guns, so they leave me alone for the most part.”

“The Mercs?”

TJ winced. “God, you really are green aren’t you? The Southside Mercs are the top dogs in here. Our three cellmates are members.”

“Gottcha. And they’re bad news, I take it?”

“Got it in one, pretty boy.”

Ricky nodded, eyes already roaming the yard. He leaned back against the wire and lounged, body at ease. He was very friendly, but to TJ’s street honed instincts there was just something about him, something about the studied calm in his body as he watched proceedings, something in his expression as he surreptitiously watched the other prisoners _and_ the guards. It just didn’t sit right – at first TJ had thought he was kind of fearless, in that way that J-Cats were, but now, after a morning of exposure, he could see it; there was wariness there, anxiety, tension. But it just wasn’t quite _right_ , somehow.

TJ was so busy musing on Ricky’s weirdness, he didn’t notice Sean until he was almost on top of him.

“Hey, TJ. You got my smokes?” Sean said, and for the millionth time in the past few days, TJ jumped embarrassingly.

“Sure, Sean,” he said, attempting to pretend he hadn’t leapt a foot in the air. He needn’t have worried - Sean and Ricky were staring at each other again. He could have grown an extra head and they wouldn’t have noticed. There was hostility and some sort of assessing weight in both their gazes. TJ wondered if they knew each other. It didn’t appear so from their actions and words – but there was _something_ going on beyond the obvious.

“What did you say your name was?” Sean asked, his was voice casual, but his eyes were fierce.

“Ricky. Ricky Johnson.”

“Ricky _Johnson_?” Sean let out a snort. “Whoever named you must have fucking hated you.”

Ricky scowled, but remained leaning against the fence, even though he looked like he might be considering throwing a punch. “How so?” he asked, with apparent reluctance.

“You know Johnson is slang for cock, right?”

“Lots of things are slang for cock.”

“True, one of my favorites is _dick_. And your name is Richard. So basically your name is Dick- Dick.”

“My name is _Ricky_.”

“Dick-Dick!” Sean was outright grinning, his expression somewhere between delighted and bemused. “Why would anyone do that to another human being? You must have been horribly bullied in school.”

“Fuck off,” Ricky muttered, his lower lip sticking out in an apparent sulk, but his eyes looked amused.

Suddenly the grin slid of Sean’s face like rain down a window. “Who gave you that bruise?”

Ricky shifted slightly. “Prison etiquette being what it is, I figure I better keep that to myself.”

“This is your first day in gen-pop. Either you had it before you came in, in which case no harm in telling me, or you got it from someone outside of these fuckwits.” He gestured towards the milling prisoners in the yard.

“What’s it to you?”

“You gave me a good laugh with your ridiculous name, I’m not above doing you a solid in exchange. You need protection I can offer it.”

Ricky sneered up at him. “Seems to me, in this place protection comes with a price.”

“No price. Unless you’re offering,” Sean leered good-naturedly at him.

TJ felt like they had forgotten he was there, and he was definitely missing something in this conversation. Maybe the weird thing between them was just attraction. TJ wasn’t prejudiced – lots of guys traded favors and some lifers had something that could be called a relationship with one another, even though they would have never gone with a dude outside of prison walls. You got used to it. He never would have expected it from Sean, but then, what did he know?

“In your dreams, handsome.” Ricky flipped him the bird, a smile tugging his split lip.

Yeah, maybe that was all it was, just casual flirting. TJ hoped so.

“Tell me,” Sean insisted and Ricky seemed to consider his answer carefully.

“It wasn’t an inmate,” he said at last.

“CO then? Which one?” Sean shifted so he could watch the guards as they paced.

“Williams.”

Sean hummed, his eyes narrow. “He can make life real difficult if you get on his radar, Dick-Dick. I would steer clear.”

“You’re not going to drop that name are you?”

“Nope.”

Ricky sighed, sounding very put upon. “Well it’s a bit late to stay away from Williams, he seems to have it in for me.”

“What did you do? You’ve only been here a day.”

“As far as I can tell, I existed. He told me he doesn’t like my face. The punch was because I resisted arrest when I was brought in.”

They paused and watched as Williams crossed the yard. There was intensity to their gazes – like a pair of lions sizing up a big old buffalo.

“Williams is tight with the Merc Morons over there,” Sean said conversationally, without looking at his companions.

“Must get along well with you then,” Ricky muttered, sourly.

“Yup. He’s a peach.”

They continued staring and TJ had the nagging feeling there had been much more to that conversation than he was actually hearing. It sounded like the way he and other informants spoke to each other when there might be unfriendly ears about. Perhaps that was their true relationship? That would make sense, maybe Ricky also worked for the Red Hood?

Whatever the true nature of their relationship- TJ was staying out of it, nothing but trouble there, he could sense it.

“You been up to see the Doctor in the last few days?” Ricky asked, breaking the silence.

“Nope,” Sean raised an eyebrow.

“She has a cute new nurse - you should go check her out.”

“Go for what? I’m not exactly sick.” He gestured to himself. “Picture of health.”

Ricky shrugged a shoulder. “How about your bloody nose?” he said, and punched Sean in the face.


	8. Nicola

Nicola tried to treat all her patients the same if they let her. She had discovered that most of the racist gang members she treated didn’t actually mind having a black doctor so long as no one saw them not minding. There were some exceptions of course, inmates whose ideology transcended the prison walls and into their day-to-day living. But she did her best to ignore the comments and just do her job.

She hadn’t been on duty when Sean Wolff had been examined during intake, but she was familiar with his name – he seemed to be the cause of numerous injuries since he had arrived a week or so ago. He was also a fairly well respected member of the ruling gang in this jail, and by his violent reputation she assumed he was one of those whose prison persona reflected their actual belief system and personality.

He wasn’t quite what she expected. He was young, for a start barely into his twenties. He was sitting on her exam table with a fierce scowl and a bloody trail from his nose down the front of his prison issue T-shirt. CO Williams was standing just beside him, a matching scowl on his face. He laid a very companionable looking hand on Wolff’s shoulder and leaned in. Nicola hung back. In her previous job she wouldn’t have bothered – but in this one, every bit of information counted. She could just make out what was being said.

“No need to make a report,” Williams said, “It will be dealt with.”

“ _No_.” Nicola didn’t need to read lips to hear Wolff’s reply. “I’m going to deal with it, you want me to lose face?”

Williams nodded and patted his arm. Out of his line of sight Wolff was looking at the CO’s hand on his skin like it was covered in shit. Curious.

Nicola didn’t like the sound of that – it sounded distinctly like more work coming her way. Williams withdrew to wait and Wolff’s face changed from angry to almost boyishly worried – an expression that fell away as soon as Nicola made her presence known.

“Mr. Wolff,” she greeted him. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“As does yours, Doctor.” He smirked at her, but the expression seemed better suited to a naughty schoolboy rather than a violent criminal.

Any other injuries apart from the busted nose?”

“Nope,” he was looking around curiously. Despite his easy expression there was a feel of concealed power in his large frame, although she didn’t feel any menace directed toward her.

“Do you want to make a report about who hurt you?” Nicola asked, because it was protocol, not because she expected an answer.

“Nah. You know how it is, have to deal with it myself.”

“Does that mean I will be expecting company soon?”

Wolff shrugged. “Depends who gets to him first – people don’t take kindly to some friendless newbie throwing punches at someone with my affiliations, you get me?”

“Friendless newbie?” Nicola asked. She really hoped it wasn’t the Johnson kid – he had enough black marks against him without additional heat from the biggest prison gang in the jail.

“Yeah. So if you don’t want to be scraping bits of fish off the floor, let’s get this done and me out of here.” Seeing her doubtful expression he gave her another boyish smile. “I’ll have to put him in his place but in a less permanent way that the other asswipes in here - promise.”

“Excuse me for my disbelief, Mr. Wolff, but I will believe that when I see it.”

Wolff rolled his big shoulders and allowed her to dab at the blood around his nose.

“I hear you have a pretty new nurse?” He asked as she wiped at his chin. Nicola ignored him, but he twisted away from her and leaned towards the office door “Hey nurse!” Wolff yelled, something that might have been a smile twitching his lips.

Sophia stuck her head around the door. “Everything Okay, Dr. Kay?” she asked, before her eyes fell on Wolff. Her mouth hung open for a second and a strange expression flittered across her face. Then she turned back to Nicola. “Dr. Kay?”

“Everything’s fine, Sophia, you carry on.” Sophia shot Wolff another look and withdrew.

“Are we done?” Wolff asked, his voice light, but his eyes were guarded.

“You can go,” Nicola allowed.

The exchange was still bothering her as she finally wound down for lunch. Wolff was a handsome young man, close in age to Sophia – it was possible those glances were just hormones doing the talking. But Nicola didn’t think so - she was fairly sure what she had seen was recognition - followed by something that looked like relief.

She decided not to dwell on it – but it was proving surprisingly difficult.


	9. TJ

“That was dumb, Ricky. _Really_ dumb,” TJ said as they watched Sean be led away by an irritated CO, no doubt to visit the doctor.

“The guards were right there, they intervened before things could get out of hand.” Ricky didn’t sound nearly as scared as he should have done. But that was because he didn’t _know_. And that was probably TJ’s fault.

“You say that like it’s a good thing. It’s not. You piss off the Mercs then you piss of the guards and then you get dead. And there’s nothing anyone can do for you.”

“How’d you mean?”

“You piss off one, you piss off the other – that means you got the whole fucking place stacked against you.”

Ricky leaned back against the fence, tossing his hair out of his eyes with a practiced swing. “I can hold my own.”

TJ resisted the urge to shake him. “Against Sean? Maybe. Against the biggest gang in here? Against the guards who are even worse? It’s your stupid funeral.”

“So it’s pissing off the CO’s that’s going to be the nail in my coffin is what you’re saying? Not punching Sean?”

“I’ll spell it out for you, as you don’t seem too bright,” One of Ricky’s brows shot up at that, “If the guards don’t like you? You’re going home in a box. Not even that – a plastic bag, because there’s not going to be enough left of you to autopsy. And pissing the Merc’s off is as good as pissing the guards off. Sean is the least you are going to be dealing with." TJ wrestled with his sudden overwhelming desire to have a smoke, versus the need to sell his remaining tobacco. Ricky was giving him the jitters – and need for a nicotine fix won out. He quickly rolled up while Ricky watched with vague interest. TJ considered offering him one – but there was no point in wasting a precious resource on a walking dead man.

“I’m sure Sean will want to exact his own revenge, the rest will leave me alone until then.” Ricky said eventually. He sounded pretty sure of himself, but in TJ’s opinion, he was underestimating the importance of racial unity in the prison system. Attack one, you attack all.

”As I said, it’s your funeral. Sean’s going to have to hurt you if he wants to save face. And after he’s done with you, if there’s anything left, it will be open season for the rest of them. You hurt one of theirs – that puts a target on your back and some of them are just looking for a reason to get themselves a punk who looks like you.”

“That’s such a cliché.”

“Ricky, you’re in jail, we fucking _thrive_ on cliche’s.”

Ricky laughed. “I guess so. So what do you suggest? Fight back or just let Wolff have his way with me?” The idiot _still_ looked amused.

“Sean isn’t into that shit. He might beat you to death but he won’t turn you out.”

“Noted.” There was something almost fond in Ricky’s expression. Then he looked at TJ, concern showing on his face for the first time. ”Will associating with me get you in trouble?”

“That’s what you worry about? Worry about your own skin, fish.”

“I’ve got enough worry to go round.”

TJ snorted. “You are one crazy guy. No, associating with you won’t get me in trouble, not unless I fail to get out the way when they come for you – and believe me, I will be getting out the way.”

“Understood. When are they likely to confront me?”

TJ looked towards the thickest collection of gang members. Spencer was waving his arms angrily in their direction. “Any time now, I’m guessing.”

Something in Ricky’s stance shifted slightly as Spencer and a small crew approached. It was barely perceptible, and he still gave the appearance of being relaxed, but there was a sense of tense readiness about him.

True to his word TJ stepped back as the thugs approached. No way he was getting his ass beat for some nobody. He felt sort of bad about it though.

Before things could kick off however, Officer Russell interrupted them.

“Morris, Jeffries, and Johnson – time to go see the shrink.” Russell smirked. His eyes on the way Spencer was looming over Ricky.

“Saved by the screws, Johnson,” Spencer said. He didn’t bother to whisper, he didn’t have to, as high up as he was in the hierarchy staff didn’t do shit to him. “No one’s going to be there to protect you tonight, pretty boy.”

“Guess I’ll have to protect myself then,” Ricky said, and TJ winced. He really, _really_ wished the inevitable unpleasantness would go down somewhere other than his own cell.

 

 

The shrink turned out to be a tall Asian woman in her mid-twenties. Her hair pulled back into a bun and her designer glasses perched elegantly on her nose. She looked calm and professional, and not like she was about to be locked in a room with a bunch of angry cons.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted them, with a small friendly smile. TJ chose a spot in the corner, hoping to put some distance from himself and crazy Ricky. No such luck, Ricky followed and sat next to him. It was possible he had underestimated the likelihood of trouble by association; Spencer was glaring at him and Ricky equally. _Shit_.

“Are we one light?” The shrink asked, glancing at the empty chair at the end of the small semi-circle.

“Wolff’s in the infirmary,” Spencer said, glaring at them some more. TJ tried not to look at him, or look like he was being in anyway friendly with Ricky.

“I see. I guess we will have to begin without him. My name is Mellissa Kim,” she said, nodding to them each in turn. “Thank you for agreeing to take part in this study.”

“I didn’t agree to shit, lady,” Spencer said, taking his eyes off Ricky to give her the once over.

“I see. You are free to leave at any time, Mr...?”

“Morris.”

“Mr. Morris. You have no obligation to attend these sessions or speak to me during them. It’s all strictly voluntary.”

“Yeah, right,” Spencer said.

“We don’t get much of a choice at anything in here,” TJ agreed, it wasn’t like it wasn’t true, and backing up the bad guys didn’t seem like such a bad idea right now. “They moved us without a by your leave and they signed up to this without offering any explanation at all.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Kim said, her brows furrowed. “That’s not how I like to conduct things – I want to provide a space of honesty and openness for you to talk about your experiences in jail.”

“No way, lady.” Spencer said, “I don’t have a death wish. You don’t talk shit about shit in here.”

TJ and Bill both nodded. Beside him, Ricky leaned forward slightly, blue eyes narrowed in consideration. “I’m Ricky Johnson,” he offered after a moment. “May I ask what your objective is, Dr. Kim?”

“I’m doing a study about the psychological impact of incarceration on the under twenty-fives. I’ve gathered a great deal of information from a lot of young men on the east coast. I followed one of my subjects here from Gotham.” She paused, swallowed – clearly unsure. “You might know him? Henry Martinez?”

The mood in the room shifted, becoming tense – no one spoke. And for once, it wasn’t just TJ that jumped when the door banged open, slamming into the stiff silence like an explosion.

“What was that about Martinez?” Sean asked, as he sauntered into the room, flanked by officer Williams. “’Cos last I heard, that dude was dead and buried.” He smirked and swaggered towards the empty chair, as though he didn’t have bits of bloody tissue stuck up each nostril.

“Mr. Wolff I presume?” Kim asked, looking slightly alarmed at Sean’s blood soaked t-shirt.

“Yeah. Sorry about the mess – bumped my face on the cell door, didn’t have time to change.”

“Did you know Mr. Martinez?” Kim asked.

“Only by the fact he got himself dead in under a week, that’s got to be some sort of record.”

“Shut up, Wolff,” Spencer said, quick and angry. “Don’t get your ass killed for some dead rat.”

Sean shrugged and turned his cold eyes on Ricky, who twitched but otherwise didn’t react. TJ, only a seat away, felt the urge to shift nervously and quashed the desire ruthlessly.

The rest of the session passed in a blur of anxiety for TJ – the mention of Martinez, the shrink’s interest in him, her weird attitude - like she was waiting for one of them to open up about the shit that went on here. Like she actually thought the sessions were private and not being monitored.

Why the fuck did Sean have to bring further attention to himself in connection with Martinez? And by extension bring attention to the dodgy shit that TJ was also involved in?

Why did Spencer call Martinez a rat? Did he _know_? Did he know about Sean and TJ and _their_ connection to the Red Hood?

If by some unlikely chance, TJ actually survived this stint in jail he was cleaning up his act, getting a steady job, hell he was going to move out of Gotham altogether.


	10. 'Sean'

Sean Wolff had been around longer than the Red Hood and his skin was a comfortable fit. His contacts were well established and his face well known. He wasn’t a nice man, but he wasn’t an awful one either. He was the perfect cover to enter South Haven jail.

Right up until shit got complicated – and now “Sean” risked being blown wide open. If Dick Grayson was the cause of it, Jason was going to be pissed. He liked Sean, he liked Sean’s friends. He had no desire to retire the persona any time soon. Admittedly he had chosen Sean because it would be easy and relatively safe to enter the jail. That may have been a mistake - if only because he hadn’t counted on having company.

Having Dick here worried him, not because he couldn’t look after himself, he most certainly could – but he was not well suited to working in this environment, and it showed. He was painting himself as a target in bright red letters – obviously he wanted to draw out the perpetrators and get this case closed. But it might get him killed, or hurt in ways Jason didn’t want to think about. Or, even more annoying – he might get Jason killed, which would be just one indignity too far.

When Jason strode into the cell, Spencer had Dick up against the wall – and Dick seemed unsure of the best way to deal with it – he had to make himself appear weaker than he was – but couldn’t risk actual injury. Nothing showed on his face, but Jason read relief in his body as Sean stepped back into play.

“I’m the one this puppy disrespected. I get to deal with it.” Jason stared Spencer down. Thank fuck he still had enough clout to throw his weight around a bit.

“If you say so, Sean,” Spencer said, giving him a nod and edging back enough for Jason to get into ‘Ricky’s’ space. Jason didn’t give Dick any time to react and backhanded him across the face, splitting his lip open again. Then, he lunged forward and grabbed him by the hair, tipping his head back. God he loved the extra few inches he had on his predecessor so damn much.

Dick, predictably, struggled, although not in earnest and Jason held the edge of his blade against his throat. “Don’t even think about it, punk,” He said, cold menace dripping from his tongue. “You’re mine because of what you did, you got that?”

“Didn’t think you were into that,” Dick said, eyes on Jason and body tense in his hold.

“I’m not into fucking men, but that doesn’t mean I won’t break you, mind and body.” He pushed the blade against Dick’s throat hard enough to draw blood. And he watched the slow slide of red almost dizzily. Even though they were play-acting, it was still kind of a heady experience.

“I won’t let you.” Dick said, unconvincingly.

“You don’t have a choice – you submit to me or tonight after lights out, if you’re lucky I’ll cut your throat.”

“And if I’m unlucky?”

“I’ll let Spencer and Bill have you or pass you to someone less kind and gentle.”

“The guards…”

“Will do whatever I ask, if I offer to line their pockets.”

Dick had to be a stubborn asshole and keep this going – it wasn’t really in his nature to submit this way, not to someone like Jason. He was clearly testing his own limits, but Jason was actually going to have to hurt him if he didn’t capitulate soon. Just to illustrate his point, Jason withdrew his blade and punched him in the stomach in one smooth motion. He pulled the punch, of course, and Dick made a good show of wheezing. Then Jason slammed him back up against the wall of the cell and put the blade next to his right eye. “Do you submit?”

Dick looked at the blade at the corner of his vision and swallowed, there was something wild in his gaze and his breathing was hitching – Jason couldn’t tell if it was adrenalin, stress, excitement or what, but he was slightly embarrassed to feel his cock twitch in his pants in response.

“Yeah,” Dick said, after a long moment where they stared at each other with a weird electric tension strung between them like a wire.

“Yeah, _what_?” Jason asked, crowding him, and forcing his chin up if he wanted to maintain the eye contact.

And yeah, this shouldn’t be making his cock hard, especially _here_ ; but it was. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to make Dick say – but he _really_ wanted to hear it. Dick looked flushed, Jason liked to think it was with arousal, but it was more likely to be anger.

“Yes, what?” Jason asked again. He was seriously trying his luck, but when didn’t he? Luck and death were his dance partners. Why not go all in and fill up his card for the evening?

“Yes, boss,” Dick said at last, completely failing to avert his eyes submissively, which made it all the hotter.

Jason suspected, when he was no longer riding on a rush of slightly inappropriate lust he was going to be a bit embarrassed by the expression that was probably on his face.

Actually, he was going to be embarrassed by a quite a lot of shit if they ever got out of this.

“Right, come here,” he growled, grabbing Dick by the hair again and marching him out of the cell. There was about twenty-five minutes’ of rec time left before he had to be back in his cell. He could hear Spencer and Bill laughing as he left. Damn it.

 

Jason was not at all surprised to find himself slammed face first into the wall as soon as the coast was clear. Dick used an elbow on the back of his neck to grind his cheek into the brickwork, twisted an arm behind his back and shoved a knee into his thigh, just below his ass.

“Hey, you started it,” Jason said, conversationally, “and we haven’t got much time.”

Dick pulled back, his cheeks still slightly tinged with pink and a scowl to rival Bruce’s best on his face. “What are you _doing_ here, Jason?” he said.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“That should be obvious.”

“Not being funny, Dick-Dick, but why are _you_ here specifically. This isn’t a gig suited to your talents and it shows.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb. You’ve done stints in jail for daddy before – you know how to play by the rules, but you’re not. You’re rushing things.” Jason struggled to articulate what he meant, but it was just as hard to explain the situation to Dick as if would be for Dick to explain to him if their positions were reversed. Too much distrust and belligerence. Sometimes he had a sneaky insight into what a pain they must have both been to Bruce when they were younger.

Dick crowded him again, apparently determined to prove Jason’s point to himself. “What’s wrong with rushing? I want to stick out, I want a reaction and I want it quick.”

“Look you moron, you keep pissing people off and all the skills in the world won’t save you, me either. And having back-up is not useful if they don’t have the access to help you!”

“Steph’s not here as back up, she’s here to investigate from another angle.”

Jason waved his hands in frustration – what was it about Dick that just threw him back to a level of gawky immaturity? “This is what pisses me off about you. Everyone says _I’m_ the crazy impulsive one, but damn it, I plan shit. I plan contingencies and I make sure I can stay alive before I put myself in stupid situations – you go it half-cocked and antagonize everyone!”

Dick stuck his lower lip out and jutted his head forward, fists clenched.

Jason had to admit he was pleased to see he wasn’t the only one that had this type of immature reaction to working together. “You were the sort of kid who poked a hornets nest with a stick to see what would happen weren’t you?” he asked, ruefully. He forced his body out of its defensive stance and relaxed. Dealing with people like Dick, body language went a very long way.

His change in posture worked, and Dick relaxed slightly in turn. “No, I never even saw a hornet’s nest,” He squinted up at Jason thoughtfully, “I was the sort of kid that walked the high-wire without a net though, so I guess your point stands.”

Progress. Thank fuck.

Jason gave him a quick smile, he was aiming for a smirk but he suspected it was more of a grin. He hated jail, and in some strange way having Dick here at his back was comforting. So long as he could ensure he behaved.

“Although it galls me to admit it, you have a unique talent for violence, and you’re smart and quick thinking. But you’ve never lived in a place like this. Being able to think fast and move fast only gets you so far when you’re trapped. It will take time for someone to get you out – and if shit goes wrong it will happen fast and brutal,” Jason said.

“And you can handle it?” Dick’s tone was flippant, but his body was leaning forward, engaged. He was listening.

“No, that’s the point I’m trying to make, I’m in the same position as you, worse maybe, as I don’t have daddy dearest to bail me out. But I’ve cultivated my place here to insure I have the best chance of surviving while I gather intel. Might be a bit fucked up now, because of the very smartly named Dick-Dick Johnson.”

“Don’t be such a baby. If it comes to it, I’ll protect you, little wing.” Dick batted his eyelashes.

“Oh my god I hate you so much.”

Dick grinned at him, showing lots of teeth. Then he sobered slightly. “Seriously though, I’ll try to follow your lead. Truth is, I don’t like it in here, and it scares me being so penned in. I just want to get it over with, as quickly as possible.”

“So you’re acting like a dick, ‘scuse the pun, because prison freaks you out? Seriously?”

“It’s a character flaw, I admit.”

“One of many.”

Dick relaxed further and rubbed at his bruised face. “So what’s the real danger here?”

Finally they were getting somewhere; it was possible they might live to see fresh air again. Maybe. “Both of us can handle the inmates for the most part, but on-mass in these confined spaces it’s surprisingly difficult to watch your ass– it only takes one shank to the carotid to kill you.”

“Yeah, I get that, that’s every day on the streets.”

“Yeah, but we have gear there, here It’s just a t-shirt between you and the pointy end of someone’s toothbrush. The real problem starts when the guards get involved. Not so easy to fight with pepper spray in your face and even harder if you get tasered.”

“Is that likely?”

“It’s a possibility. Never seen it, only heard about it – but it’s come from enough sources it has the ring of truth.”

Dick nodded “I’ll be more careful, ok? Rein it in a bit.”

And that was the saving grace of working with Dick Grayson – stubborn asshole he might be, but when you made him see sense he was pretty gracious about it. When he proved you wrong he was insufferable though. Jason had once witnessed him doing the ‘loser shuffle’ at a disgruntled Damian after correctly guessing which bank was going to be hit next. Damian had sulked for a week. Jason had taken a picture – Dick had been in cape and cowl at the time and with Damian out of the shot for scale, it could have been Bruce if you squinted.

He had sent the picture to Dick as a Christmas card, hoping to rile him. Instead of shame, the bastard framed it and put it above the computer in the cave.

Jason’s lip curled at the memory, but he shook himself clear. “Appreciate it. This place is a fucking powder keg ready to blow, I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Me too. There’s a feeling of fear like some sort of toxic miasma hanging over this place. Fear can make people rash and aggressive.”

“Case in point: you.”

“Case in point, me.” Dick rolled his shoulders and shot Jason a look. “You better smack me up a bit, for show.”

“Good times.” Jason struck him across the face carefully, even so he could see the wince, bruises on top of bruises were never fun. He hit him a few times across the back and chest too, just in case. Dick took it stoically, disinterested. A few punches were just another day at the office for them, really.

“I feel better about things now” Dick said as Jason admired his handiwork.

“Being punched just does it for you, huh?”

“Ass. No, just good to know someone has my back.”

“Same. Although I will deny ever having said that with extreme prejudice.”

“Got ya. Jay?”

Jason grunted in acknowledgement. Mind already on what was going to happen back in their cell.

“Why _are_ you here? This isn’t your normal patch,” Dick asked.

“Two people have died for me already. TJ’s one of mine, there are a couple more in here too.”

Dick raised an eyebrow, and Jason already knew what was coming. “Yes, Dick, they might be criminals but they’re my informants, so it’s different.”

“Fair enough. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for people. Just bear in mind that’s kind of how we feel about the people you kill on the streets.”

“You feel responsible for the Jokers’ health do you? Those owl freaks that came after us last year? Bane?”

“Not everyone you kill is a big fish, Jason. Just people who have made some very bad choices.”

Dick had that earnest look on his face that always made Jason want to punch it, but instead he just sneered, “you’re a sanctimonious prick, you know that?”

The earnestness slid off Dicks face and reformed as a wry grin. “Yep. I’m a hypocrite too, sometimes. But that doesn’t make what I said any less true.” He shrugged. “Lets not fight about it now, we can have a proper punch up over it when we get out. Loser buys the drinks.”

“You’re a light-weight, two beers and you’re down.”

“I’m a cheep date!” Dick grinned at him, a dangerous devil-may-care light in his eyes.

Jason swallowed. He really hated Dick, some days. No one else but Bruce could throw him off center quite so easily – and he never knew if the asshole was aware of what he was doing or not. “Lets just survive this experience first, eh?”

“Good plan. I’ll follow your lead.”

Jason just hoped it would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's who for those that couldn't wait :p
> 
> Ricky = Dick  
> Sean = Jason  
> Sophia = Steph


	11. Nicola

 

Nicola was woken at 0-dark-hundred by the sound of her phone and she struggled from sleep to grab it from the nightstand. She peered blearily at the screen. It was a text from Jack: _There’s been a death. Get here quick before they disappear the body._

She was out of bed and halfway into her clothes before she was even fully awake. Twenty minutes later she was driving into the prison’s parking lot, still blinking sleep from her eyes and was surprised to see Sophia waiting for her by the staff entrance. The girl looked rumpled and anxious, but not nearly as exhausted as Nicola felt.

“What are you doing here, Sophia? Did Officer Russell text you too? He shouldn’t have.”

Sophia shrugged fell into step behind her. “I’m here now, I may as well help. What is the situation exactly?”

“There’s been a death – that’s all I know.”

“Who?” Sophia asked urgently. “Do we know?”

“Not yet.” Nicola wondered who the girl was worried about. She knew that she hadn’t imagined that look shared between her and Wolff, but decided not to push it – for now, as they had far more pressing matters to attend to.

“Why are _we_ here?” Sophia asked as they entered the building. “Isn’t the night shift covering it?”

Nicola felt that Sophia knew damn well why she was here hours before her shift started, but she decided to play it easy. “I want a look at the body – every time this happens the evidence is gone by the time I get in there. Not this time. I want something concrete.”

Sophia nodded. “Will they try to stop us?”

Nicola turned to face her, almost causing the girl to bump into her. “You shouldn’t be getting involved in this. It could impact your career – and depending what’s going on it could be dangerous. That’s not what you signed on for.”

Sophia looked at her closely for a moment and then gave her a tight smile. “I don’t do what I do to play it safe,” she started, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I do this because I want to help people. Especially those who can’t help themselves. I know the risks. This is what I want to do.”

Brave, stupid words, but they sent a thrill up Nicola’s spine. Sometimes the daily grind and the pain of these people, the pain some of them had caused others, wore down on her, sapping the drive and the hope from her bones. But those words from this optimistic _child_ reminded her of what she had started out to do.

“They might try to stop us, but they have very little jurisdiction to do so. If it looks like we’re going to be kicked out, I want you to record everything surreptitiously while I distract them. Okay?” Nicola said finally, leading the way again.

“That’s a plan I can get behind!” Sophia whipped out her phone and started fiddling with the buttons.

One way or another they were going to get a look at that corpse.

 

Doctor Evergreen worked night-shift and, as predicted, he was very displeased to see them. Nicola fought him the best way she knew how. Having suffered through many battles with the man previously, she knew just how to go about it - she challenged him and gave him an opening to tell her she was wrong. Never had there been a man more enamored with the sound of his own voice or one more likely to lose track of time while he told an upstart woman where she was in error.

While he ranted, she made vague sounds of acknowledgement and subtly made what observations she could: The victim was an African American man and he had been beaten almost unrecognizable. It was impossible to tell if he had been hit with an object without closer investigation, but if someone had done this with their fists then they might well need medical treatment themselves due to the sheer amount of violence used.

Sophie was carefully edging round the young man on the table, hopefully recording as she went. Her face was serious and sad but, beneath that, Nicola could read anger in the way she moved, the set of her jaw. She felt the same way. It didn’t matter what this man had done to land himself in this place – even if it was a dreadful crime, no one deserved to die like this, executed without a trial, and with such brutality his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

It was going to stop. She didn’t know how yet, but she was going to make sure he was the last.

 

Later, she and Sophia shared a coffee from the thermos Jack had handed her as she’d stalked out of the morgue. He had walked with them in silence as they climbed back up the stairs and out of the security doors. Then he had passed her the coffee and a given her a solemn nod before trudging off to his duties. It comforted her to know that they had at least one other ally in the prison itself.

“Doctor Kay?” Sophia said, breaking the silence, but keeping her voice low. “We need to do something about this.”

“Nicola. And yes, we do. I’ve been to the police – they as much as said the kids deserved it. The man I spoke to anyway.” Nicola felt another burst of indignant anger remembering that conversation. While it was true the Bludhaven police had taken an upturn in the last few years, there were still pockets of corruption that spared like tendrils of molten lava, deep into the organization.

“Do you know what is actually happening to get these men killed?” Sophia asked bluntly, “I mean, it’s obvious they’re being beaten to death, but by who? And why?”

Nicola sighed and took a sip of hot coffee, watching the steam rise and curl away on the cold air. “I’ve heard rumors. Nothing that I can back up.”

“What rumors?”

“Illegal fights. Inmate against inmate – to the death. I assume the guards allow it for some reason.”

“Why?” Sophie asked, “why would the CO’s allow it, and why would the inmates do it?”

Good questions, and ones Nicola didn’t have answers for. “When you put it like that it sounds pretty stupid,” she admitted.

Sophia flapped a hand, only just hanging on to her coffee in her enthusiasm. “No, no, you misunderstand me. I’ve heard those same rumors – and I think there is probably some truth to it. Enough to use it as a starting point. But the first order of business is to figure out the whys, and then the who’s. And then make a case the police can’t ignore.”

“So,” Nicola mused, “first question – why are the guards allowing it to happen?”

“My guess is that they set it up – maybe using people they don’t like?” Sophia offered. “Or maybe it’s like an illegal gambling operation, with money riding on the outcome of fights.”

Nicola nodded, it was possible, messed up, but possible. “And add to that, it probably goes a long way to keep order in here. If you don’t behave you end up in the ring, or whatever,” she said. It still sounded like the plot of a bad movie, but at the same time, she could see men like Officer Williams being involved with something like that.

“Like the prison version of the Hunger Games!” Sophia added, flailing her coffee again.

Nicola bit back a smile. For a moment there Sophia had begun to seem like she was far older than her years, and far, far too accepting of the situation. And then with one well-placed silly comment and she looked just like a slightly rumpled college student again, infused with all the absurdities and assurance of youth.

“So, how do we go about the next bit?” Nicola asked.

“Well, first we better try and find out if we’re right. We might be completely off base and this whole thing is just some run-of-the-mill serial killer bashing people to death for thrills while the prison tries to cover it up to avoid the paperwork.”

“Good point.”

“So the next step is evidence. We need to know the names of the missing and the dead. Include unplanned transfers out of the jail; getting them lost in the system is a good way to hide a death. Then we need to figure out who’s in on it and who is just turning a blind eye. Dr. Evergreen is clearly involved to some extent so he might be a good place start.”

And there was that knowledgeable, confidence back. Nicola gave her a long considering look. “You seem like you know what you’re doing. To an alarming degree.”

Sophie smiled at her, guileless and earnest. “I watch a lot of crime shows, Dr. Kay, that’s all. Just a TV addict.”

Somehow Nicola doubted that, but in the face of their current situation, she chose to keep those thoughts to herself.


	12. TJ

TJ woke to the sound of shouting, and even before he opened his eyes he knew it had happened again. He sat up and saw Spencer and Ricky, who were both staring out of the cell towards the commotion. Sean was just rubbing sleep from his eyes and sliding out of his bunk, his hair a wild mess.

“What’s happening?” Ricky asked Spencer. That kid never seemed to learn.

“Did I say you could talk to me, punk?” Spencer growled back. “Seems to me you’re a prime candidate to learn first-hand what happens in here if you step out of line.”

Ricky opened his mouth to reply - because apparently he liked getting his ass kicked - but before he could make a noise Sean shoved a hand against his chest, hard. “Go sit on the bunk, bitch.”

Ricky shut his mouth, his teeth clicking together and his face flushed. He looked almost apoplectic but he went and sat stiffly on Sean’s bunk. TJ wondered again what had gone on between them out of sight last night. They had been gone until count, and when they returned Sean had looked rather smug and Ricky had been limping and bleeding, from the nose as well as his already split lip. He’d climbed into his own bunk quietly, ignoring the suggestive comments and sniggers of the other men in the cell, then he had pulled his thin blanket over his head and hidden himself for the rest of the night. TJ had felt for him; humiliated and hurt.

But TJ was a survivor; mostly he was just glad it wasn’t him.

He did have to wonder, though – had it just been a simple beating? It was clear from the comments that Spencer and Bill thought Sean had turned Ricky out, but TJ knew Sean a bit, he knew he hated people who did that kind of stuff, on the street or inside. And Ricky wasn’t afraid of Sean. Pissed off, tense and anxious, but not afraid.

“What’s going on?” Sean asked, taking up where Ricky left off.

Spencer gave him a measuring look. “There was a fight last night. Someone got offed.”

Sean nodded. “Why’d he get done?”

“He was a rat,” Bill said from his perch on the single toilet in the corner. To TJ those words stank almost as much as the dump the guy was taking and he shuddered. He was almost afraid to look at them, in case their eyes were on him, confirmation of whether Martinez had spilled his guts, but when he risked a glance both Bill and Spencer were watching Sean, eyes narrow and cool. TJ didn’t like the look of that one bit.

“No one likes a rat,” Sean said, his face calm as he met Spencer’s stare with one of his own. Then it looked like Spencer cut his eyes towards Bill and Sean twitched one eyebrow in response. The tension seemed to grow as TJ watched.

“Some people do,” Bill sneered. “Some people seem mighty keen on them, that’s why we need rat catchers.”

“Shut up,” Spencer barked at him, “before your flapping mouth gets you in trouble.”

He turned back to peer out of the bars, but TJ saw the expression on Bill’s face. Anger, hate… and something worryingly close to anticipation.

Ricky was watching Bill out of the corner of his eye too, and they were clearly thinking the same thing: There was trouble brewing in the Merc’s camp; but whether that was going to be good or bad for the rest of them was anyone’s guess.

 

They had a session with the shrink straight after breakfast, and TJ was a mess of anxiety – the woman seemed determined to dredge up all the things he was trying to distance himself from.

She looked a little wide eyed and rattled as they trooped into the room and sat in the same arrangement of rickety chairs as they had the previous session. Her brows drew together in concern as she caught sight of Ricky’s impressive bruising. “Are you okay, Mr. Johnson?” she asked.

Ricky shrugged, wincing a little at the motion. TJ had seen a brief flash of the bruises on his body as he changed out of his sleep clothes and he was surprised he wasn’t complaining more. Hell he was surprised he hadn’t run straight for PC.

“He’s fine,” Sean said, when Ricky failed to answer. “Aren’t you, Dick-Dick?”

“I’m fine.” Ricky confirmed, sitting carefully in his seat. Spencer smirked at him, and for once Ricky kept his eyes on the floor.

“I see,” Kim said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Ricky gave her a slightly incredulous look. “I fell over,” he said, with a stunning amount of insincerity.

“I see,” Kim said again. “Have you seen the nurse?”

“No need, it’s just a bloody nose.” Ricky attempted to smile. The motion tore open his split lip. They all watched as blood started to seep down his chin.

“He’s fine. Can we hurry this up?” Sean said into the awkward silence. He leant back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Some of us have shit to do.”

“Yeah got to keep up with that busy jail-side schedule. People to see, people to stab,” Bill said, smirking.

“You’re getting on my last nerve today,” Spencer growled at him. Bill’s nostrils flared and he fell silent.

It seemed to TJ, that Spencer was still treating Sean like one of the gang, but Bill wanted him gone. He wondered what Bill knew. He wondered if it was a good idea to throw his lot in with Sean after all. Then he wondered if the stigma of PC might actually be worth it if he got to live. Maybe he could take crazy Ricky with him and save the fool from himself.

Dr. Kim’s eyes seemed glued to Sean’s bruised knuckles, her gaze shifting slightly to Ricky’s face – like she could somehow trace the imprints of Sean’s fingers on his skin.

“Okay,” Kim said, apparently admitting defeat for now. “I’m sure you have all heard what happened here last night. A young man was killed.”

“Another day, another dead guy,” Sean said, his voice utterly disinterested.

Kim ignored him. “I know most of you are no stranger to violence,” she said, her eyes lingering on Ricky again. “But every violent death has an impact, even if the victim isn’t known to you. So let’s start with the easy questions. Did anyone know the deceased?”

There was a predictable round of silence. Spencer was back to staring at Ricky with an intimidating look in his eye. Bill was frowning at the floor and Sean was gazing at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe.

“What was his name?” Ricky asked into the quiet. He was fidgeting with the hem of his jumpsuit, shifting in his seat with a restless energy, but there was something intent about him too.

“Samuel Gates. He was twenty eight.”

“How’d he die?”

“Cut it out, Nancy Drew,” Spencer snapped. Ricky shut his mouth, looking frustrated.

“Is there a problem with asking such simple questions?” Dr Kim asked, her attention now firmly on Spencer.

“Yeah. There is. And I thought this was supposed to be some therapy shit, not amateur detective hour. You want to ask us questions about our feelings and shit, go ahead. You want to ask if we ever wanted to fuck our moms or whatever, go for it. But leave out the other crap.”

Dr Kim adjusted her glasses. “The impact of the death of another inmate is relevant to my study – “

“Then keep it to that. Stop bringing up people like Martinez and encouraging dead men walking, like Mr mouthy over here-” he gestured to Ricky. “-to get himself into more trouble. It’s gonna do no one any favours. Least of all you.”

Kim regarded him steadily, then took a deep breath and went back to her notes - but the end of that line of questioning failed to bring TJ any real relief. Shit was only just getting started.

 

They hit the chow line for lunch after Ricky managed to make his escape from the shrink, who seemed determined to get him alone and question him about his battered face. Hopefully he had managed to avoid making things worse.

They were the last into the hall, and TJ couldn’t fathom what had possessed him to wait for Ricky. It didn’t do his rep any good that was for sure but, inexplicably, he had done it. There seemed to just be something about Ricky that made TJ do stupid shit.

On the menu today was a delicious main course of sloppy, overcooked spaghetti with a lunch meat sandwich on the side. There was also an apple and a few wizened carrot sticks. Clearly a valiant effort by the prison services to ward off scurvy.

Ricky looked bafflingly eager as he clutched his tray – maybe the act of eating helped take his mind off his troubles, or maybe he just had very poor taste.

He didn’t get to eat it though. Out of necessity they had to file past the table with Sean and Spencer holding court over a bunch of the younger Southside Mercs. As they passed, Sean stuck out one of his long legs, blocking Ricky’s path through the tables.

“Got my lunch there, punk?” Sean asked, conversationally.

Ricky looked from his own tray to Sean’s, still full and sitting on the table in front of him. He looked confused, and then indignant as Sean raised an eyebrow. “You _have_ your lunch,” he muttered, looking slightly heartbroken as he clutched his tray.

Sean stood, looming over him and Ricky sullenly held out his tray. The Mercs laughed as Sean sat back down and tipped Ricky’s food onto his own. Ricky dejectedly followed TJ to his seat and sat sulkily glaring at the back of Sean’s head.

“Told you not to mess with them.” TJ said, as he started in on his spaghetti. Ricky transferred his gaze from Sean’s head to TJ’s food and his expression went from stroppy to wretched and pleading.

“Hell no. You had your own grub and you lost it. Tough shit,” TJ said.

Ricky’s eyes were big and blue and the corners of his slightly swollen mouth were turned down sadly. Whoever had coined the term ‘puppy-dog eyes’ had clearly had Ricky in mind.

“No,” TJ said, firmly.

 

“So,” Ricky asked through a mouthful of TJs sandwich. “What was that crap between Spencer and the ever charming Bill-of–no–last-name?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” TJ grunted, appalled at the apparent break from reality that had resulted in losing half his lunch to a crazy person.

“Sean said there might be trouble because Spencer is so popular with the younger crowd. That they don’t stick to the code and the big bosses don’t like it.”

TJ put down his fork and stared at Ricky. When the fuck had he and Sean had time to discuss prison politics? It must have been last night, during the ‘beating’ that TJ suspected never was.

“You know Sean from outside, don’t you?” he asked at last.

“Yeah,” Ricky said. He didn’t seem surprised or upset by the question.

“Is it worth me asking why you’re pretending you don’t?”

Ricky shrugged and bit off another huge chunk of TJ’s lost sandwich, closing his eyes in apparent pleasure as he chewed. _Freak_.

“Why do _you_ pretend not to know him?” Ricky asked, when he could speak again without spraying crumbs across the table.

TJ shifted uncomfortably and didn’t answer.

“I’ll answer for you shall I?” Ricky said. The look he sent TJ was challenging. “There are two very good reasons; first, the business you’re involved in _outside_ is dangerous _inside_. Second, just being buddy-buddy with someone like Sean in this place could get you both killed. Am I right?” He snuck out a hand and stole a carrot stick off the tray while TJ gaped and struggled for something to say.

“My situation is similar,” Ricky continued. “Admitting that we’re friends might get Sean hurt. This is better.”

“Wait, so you are protecting him by letting yourself get beat up? Why would you do that?” TJ really shouldn’t have been surprised that crazy people logic was crazy, but _still_.

Ricky ignored his question and was back to glaring at the back of Sean’s head. “ _He_ probably sees it as beating me up to protect me. But it’s only partly that.” He shrugged again, a graceful roll of the shoulders and seemed to dismiss the subject. “Back to my question. What do you thinks going to happen with Spencer and Bill? Will it affect Sean?”

TJ took a moment to collect his thoughts as Ricky didn’t seem to be in any rush to hear his opinion. He was watching the guards and the way some of them lingered around the top table, where Bill sat talking to Breyer, one of the higher ups in the Mercs.

TJ was fairly sure that, somewhere in Ricky’s casual analysis of their similar situations, he had been vaguely threatened. Not outright, but he couldn’t help reading between the lines: _you know shit about me and Sean – but I know shit about you that could get you killed in a heartbeat_.

It seemed TJ was trapped in team Ricky now, whether he liked it or not and he was going to have to work hard to navigate the murky waters and stay alive when the storm inevitably hit. He forced down another mouthful of food, no longer hungry.

“It’s not just that he’s young and full of ideas, it’s the power he has to mobilise the other young upstarts,” TJ said after a while. He hadn’t really thought about it before – but now he couldn’t stop himself thinking it though further. “In another prison, they would have had to just suck it up, maybe try to manipulate things to work in their favour – but not here. Here they just have to put in a word to the guards and the problem will be sorted.”

“Does Spencer know what kind of potential danger he’s in?” Ricky was worrying at his split lip with his teeth and looking towards Sean again.

TJ was surprised to realise Ricky was genuinely concerned about him. It wasn’t just a business relationship then. Interesting.

“Don’t know,” TJ said. “I guess he might be catching on after today, same as we are. He doesn’t look happy.”

“No, he looks pissed. I wonder if the change of cell affected things? It takes him away from the heart of his supporters. Easy for Bill to stick a knife in his ribs and blame one of us.”

The idea was terrifying, but not as terrifying as what was more likely to happen.

Something must have shown on TJ’s face because Ricky leaned in close. “That’s not how it’s going to go down is it?” he asked, shrewdly. “This jail doesn’t deal with its problems in such a simple way does it?”

“No,” TJ said. The word felt tremulous on his lips.

Ricky went back to chewing his at his mouth and TJ thought about finishing his food. He wasn’t hungry any more. Fear was filling his stomach until he thought it might spill out of him. Wordlessly he pushed his tray over to Ricky.

“Really?” Ricky asked, with a bright beaming smile. He didn’t wait for an answer and made pleased noises as he tucked in.

TJ swallowed back bile and thought about maybe finding religion.

 


	13. Nicola

 

 

Nicola was just finishing up her paperwork for the evening when there was a sharp knock at her door. She sighed, and saw Sophia doing the same - every day she could almost guarantee there would be some kind of emergency at the last moment that would hold her back an extra hour.. She couldn’t even send the girl ahead as she had driven her into work that morning so they could discuss their plans for investigating further.

“Come,” she barked, her irritation bleeding through to her voice.

She was surprised to see the young therapist stick her head around the door. “Dr. Kay? Do you have a moment?” The woman asked, tentatively.

Nicola pushed up from her desk and beckoned her in. “Of course, Dr. Kim wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Kim said, as she came in and closed the door. Her face was calm and her rather severe trouser suit was impeccably pressed, but she gave away her anxiety by fidgeting with the papers clutched in her hands. “I’m sorry to bother you doctor, but I have a few concerns and the warden dismissed me before I even got started.”

From her desk, Sophia let out a loud, inelegant snort. They looked at her. “Sorry, allergies,” she offered sweetly and insincerely.

Nicola gave her a withering look and then turned her attention back to Kim “What’s the problem?” she asked.

“I think one of the young men in my group is being abused.”

Nicola sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “Has he made a complaint?”

“No, I tried to speak with him but he didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Then I’m afraid there is not much you can do. There has to be actual evidence that his life's in danger, and that really needs to come from him.”

“I think the man abusing him is sharing his cell – there must be some way to stop it.” Kim said, her voice rising slightly.

She looked tense and angry and Nicola felt a rush of sympathy. This job was hard on the idealistic. She gestured towards a chair. “Come in, take a seat and we can talk about possible options.”

Kim nodded gratefully and sat, smoothing her hands over the fabric of her trousers with a nervous touch.

Without being asked, Sophia bounced off her seat and headed for the poor excuse for a coffee machine in the corner of their shared office. “Drinks for all?” She asked on her way past, and both Nicola and Kim nodded. It was going to be a while before they got out of here, Nicola was sure.

“Tell me what happened.”

Kim let out a sigh, her rigid posture relaxing slightly. “One of the young men in my group came in this morning with fresh injuries. He was repeatedly stopped from talking to me by two other members of the group, one of whom had bruising to his knuckles and was behaving in a very controlling manner. That same man had also been involved in a previous altercation just before our first session, so I feel quite confident he was the perpetrator.”

Now it was Nicolas turn to sigh. “Being certain is not enough without evidence to back it up I’m afraid. If the victim comes forward we can move him into protective custody, but sometimes inmates find it better to struggle through physical violence. The stigma of going to PC is the sort that sticks. If there is an issue between cell mates then it is sometimes possible to arrange a transfer.” She paused and accepted the cup of hot coffee Sophia handed to her. She sipped it. One sugar, a touch of milk. She had never mentioned how she took her coffee and usually made her own rather than relying on her busy assistants. The girl had some keen observational skills, Nicola thought, as she quietly watched her offer milk and sugar to their guest.

“Anyway,” she continued after a moment, “with the current overcrowding transfers can be difficult. Racial segregation in the system also causes problems. It makes reshuffling much more difficult.”

“I just feel so _impotent_. Knowing that someone is being harmed, possibly seriously, and I have to stand back and do nothing.”

“It’s one of the most frustrating parts of this job.” Nicola agreed. “This prison is perhaps worse than most.”

Kim eyed her sharply. “I have also found that to be true. With the overcrowding it is not surprising there is so much violence behind the closed cell doors but the number of deaths does seem abnormally high.”

Nicola took a sip of coffee and studied the woman across from her. Her age was hard to place: older than Sophia, younger than Nicola herself. Fresh faced, idealistic, determined. Nicola sidestepped the subject for the moment. “You fought hard to come to this prison, I was astonished when you were granted access.”

“Yes, I’ve had several members of staff tell me how unprepared I am for working with ‘these kinds of inmates’ in ‘an old time jail like this’.” Her back straightened as though to protect herself from other people’s shitty, unsolicited options.

Nicola smiled. “I’ve heard much the same over the years. But that’s not what I meant.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m merely surprised the warden allowed someone independent into the jail – the rest of us rely on his good will for our jobs. You don’t”

Kim returned her earlier scrutiny, clearly weighing up her own words. “There’s something wrong in this prison.” She said at last. It wasn’t a question.

Nicola nodded, but didn’t otherwise answer. “Your college applied a lot of pressure to get you here, why not just go elsewhere. Why _here_?” she asked instead.

“One of the subjects I was interviewing was transferred here from Gotham. He was killed. Murdered, I think. I want to find out why and make sure the people responsible see justice.”

“What was his name?” Sophia asked. Nicola had almost forgotten she was there.

“Henry Martinez. I looked into it as much as I could before I came here. I started to see patterns in the reported deaths. Martinez fit into several categories. And I discovered he was an informant.”

“For the police?” Sophia asked.

“No, for a criminal vigilante, in Gotham.”

One of Sophia’s eyebrows went up. “Which one?”

“The Red Hood. At first I thought the death might have something to do with him; if he felt Martinez had been talking to the police or something. But I don’t think that’s what happened.”

One corner of Sophie’s mouth was twitching. Nicola supposed that talk of costumed vigilantes was a bit silly, even if they were very real. But probably not much sillier than organised prison fights.

Sophia nodded. “I suspect you are right in that assumption. I grew up in Gotham, I spend a lot of time there. If someone betrays the Red Hood, he doesn’t have them murdered in some backwater jail. He nails them to their front door or hangs them from a lamp post as a reminder that it’s very bad for your health to double cross him.”

Kim looked a bit sick, but Sophia still had that half smile on her lips, and Nicola felt she might be exaggerating. She seemed more amused than horrified.

“The fact remains, there is something rotten here. I want to find out what it is,” Kim said. She made a rueful face, “And apparently I want to save all of the other inmates along the way. Is there really nothing you can do?”

“Try to convince him to come and see me. If the damage is extensive enough, or if there is evidence of sexual violence I can try and get him transferred for his own safety. Sex between inmates is banned, it doesn’t matter if it’s consensual, under duress or violent. We can use that to get the victim out of harm’s way.”

Kim didn’t look mollified, she looked angry. Nicola approved. And she was pleased that they might have found another ally.

“What about the other thing, the deaths?” Kim asked. “You must be aware of the situation?”

“I am. Perhaps we should share information.”

Kim’s eyes brightened at the prospect and she leant forward eagerly. “I have a great deal of info on the victims, but not much on the deaths themselves. Your input would be incredibly valuable.”

“Not here,” Sophia broke in, eyeing the connecting door to the exam room, and Nicola suddenly heard what she had: movement next door, the slight shuffle of booted feet. She got up and opened the door, heart in her throat and desperately hoping it was Officer Russell come to pester her for something again.

It wasn’t.

“Evening doctor,” Officer Williams said, with an obnoxious smirk.

How long had he been there? Nicola felt that there was a knowing look in his eyes, but that could have been her anxiety talking.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, pleased at the steady sound of her own voice.

“It’s past time for Miss Kim to be leaving. I was hoping to escort her out.”

“Very chivalrous of you, _Mr_ Williams,” she said, watching him scowl as she left the ‘Officer’ off his name. Two could play that game. “I will be leaving myself in a moment and will take _Dr_. Kim with me when I go.”

“Hurry up about it,” he snapped, and Nicola did her best not to slam the door in his face.

 

“How long was he there do you think?” Sophia said, voicing Nicolas thoughts.

“Long enough.” She began packing up her stuff, shoving papers into her bag, headless of the creases she was making on the pages. Her heart was hammering and seemed to have taken up residence somewhere in her oesophagus.

“Let’s talk more outside,” Sophia said, ushering Kim out the door in front of them. Williams was still in the reception room and gave them a look as they left. It was _not_ a nice look, somewhere between smug and angry, and it gave Nicola the shivers.

 

They met up again in a small dinner just off the freeway. Nicola decided to get decaf – her body was under enough strain as it was and she couldn’t stomach the idea of food. Not so Sophia, who ordered chicken and waffles and slurped on her milkshake like an enthusiastic child.

There was a nervous quiet while Kim picked at her food, Sophia ate with gusto and texted rapidly on her phone. Kim smiled at her awkwardly and gestured at the phone clutched in the girl’s hand. “Your boyfriend?” she asked.

Sophia shot her an impish look. “Something like that. My friends like to check in with me after work. They worry about me, working in a big scary jail.”

“Mine too,” Kim agreed.

“So,” Nicola said, her voice sounded loud and she made an effort to quiet it. “So, shall we address the elephant in the room?”

Sophia nodded and put down her phone. She didn’t stop eating though.

“Did that snake Williams hear anything, and does it matter if he did?” Nicola took a quick sip of coffee to try to calm her nerves. The two younger women didn’t seem to have the same fears she did.

“What can they do about it if they did hear us talking?” Kim said.

“I don’t know. But it worries me,” Nicola admitted. “If it’s idle speculation on our part, then they might start looking for a way to get us dismissed or to shut us up.”

“They can’t fire us for gossiping,” Kim said, “I suppose they could make up a scandal to get us to leave, but that’s about the extent of it.”

“What if it’s not just gossip? What if they are involved in the deaths to some extent? Firing us is not going to be enough, the stakes are too high.”

Kim looked pensive. “Perhaps you better tell me what you know. Then I will share my information and we can decide from there.”

 

Two hours and four cups of coffee later they came to a conclusion: the likelihood was that at least some staff were involved in whatever was happening. Kim’s data was alarming – the correlation of the victim types was a clear indicator that something more than simple mindless violence was happening. Nicola’s palms were sweating and even Sophia was looking concerned. Their thoughts all seemed to be headed in the same direction: if the staff were involved in the killings they would hardly balk at threatening violence, or worse, to keep their crimes under wraps.

“I don’t know about you but I’m going to double lock my doors tonight. Maybe even go crash at my mom’s,” Sophia said. Breaking a silence that had taken on a life of its own. “Perhaps you two should consider doing the same? Just until this is resolved?”

Kim nodded, her manicured fingers tapping on her empty coffee cup in her agitation.

“No,” Nicola heard herself say. “I won’t let these people drive me from my home!”

“That’s very brave, Nicola, I feel the same – but I don’t want to be scared of every creak my house makes or have to check under my car every morning and evening,” Sophia said.

“Under your car?” Kim asked, and then her eyes widened in understanding. “Surely they wouldn’t go that far!”

“I saw it on Law and Order one time. Although the situation was different – the woman was a witness to a mob hit and was going to go to the police but before she could pluck up the courage someone planted a bomb under her car!” Sophia waved her hands, her eyes wide and earnest despite her excitement. “And there was another one I saw on Forensic Files – this time it was a doctor who was going to report malpractice but before he could his boss cut his brake lines and his car went off a cliff.” She finished with a decisive nod. “I’m going to stay with my mom.”

TV addict and crime enthusiast indeed. “You make a good point,” Nicola admitted. “And although it galls me, I will find somewhere else to rest my head for the next week or two. Heaven forbid I become the next unfortunate star of Forensic Files.”

“So,” Kim asked, her voice a little unsteady, “what’s the plan? I mean, we should be careful, just in case – but we don’t give up, right? I promised to do my best for the families of the dead. I won’t quit.”

“Well, Ms. Criminal Mastermind?” Nicola asked Sophia, who grinned.

“I like to think of myself as an ammeter sleuth, crime shows are just my homework.”

“And how many other cases have you and your detective skills solved?

“None, this is my first!” her smile slipped slightly. “But seriously, we carry on as before – but _carefully_ – don’t ask obvious questions, and we don’t talk about it with each other at work – at all. Not unless someone is in immediate danger. That would be my advice.”

Kim looked grateful. “Agreed.”

“Agreed,” Nicola added. What else could they do?

“We should totally have a name, all the good sleuthing partnerships have names.”

“Well ‘the Scoobies’ is taken,” Nicola said

“You like Buffy? I love Buffy!”

“You bet I do!” The fear of the past day seemed to evaporate and Nicola found herself grinning back at the two woman across the table.

 

 

 


	14. Mellissa

 

_The two days after the meeting in the diner were fraught for us all. I tried to do what we had agreed upon – keep looking into things, but as subtly as possible - but unfortunately it became increasingly difficult. Officer Williams seemed to be following me around the jail; every time I turned around he was there, watching me. I am unsure if his predatory expression and behaviour was because he knew what I was attempting to do, or some aggressive kind of attraction. Possibly both. Either way his attention made me profoundly uncomfortable._

_Due to this, I tried to focus on work – and my other objective: Ricky Johnson._

_Johnson was a strange one. He was articulate and charming, despite his obvious discomfort at being pressured to let me help him, and there was a restlessness about him, a tension fuelled with anxiousness._

_That Sean Wolff had been the cause of the injuries to his face was not in any question. From Wolff’s bruised knuckles, to the reactions of the rest of the men in the cell it was clear Wolff had complete control over Johnson. There was a distinct possibility that this control was also sexual in nature, and I intended to attempt to use that to have the doctor take a look at Johnson then use the results of that examination to move him to PC or another cell._

_I met fierce resistance from Johnson. He refused to see the doctor point blank, refused to go into PC and eventually refused to speak to me at all. It was incredibly frustrating._

_Having failed in my initial attempt, and having seen again the toxic dynamic between the two men, I made some inquiries about moving Wolff to a new cell and then possibly to Ad Seg. I was hoping with Wolff safely out of the way, Johnson would open up about the abuse and allow me to help him further._

_There was a lot of resistance from the warden. He wanted them all to stay where they were. This worried me on another level – if the warden was complicit in the violence happening at South Haven, there might be a motive other than overcrowding to keep those particular young men together._

_With that also in mind, I kept pushing for the transfer._

_Then Johnson stayed behind to see me, completely of his own volition. We spoke at some length and I have a full record of our conversation. [See my notes beginning at 546.]_

 

Mellissa paused and skimmed over her notes, they were neat and concise – written by hand as she had been banned from taking recording devices to her interviews. Despite that, she vividly recalled the incident.

Ricky had been twitchier than normal and Wolff had seemed edgy too. There were little darting looks between them that had baffled her at the time. Then at the end of the session, Ricky had hung back. Wolff and his cronies had paused to watch, the three of them threatening in their posture and expression. ‘TJ’ Jeffries had hung back too, anxiety all over his face. It was possible he cared for Ricky’s welfare – they certainly spent a lot of time together. Of course, it was equally likely that Mr Jeffries was concerned that with Ricky out the way the three men might turn on him. It was yet another thing to consider.

She had called the guard to escort the gang members away leaving her with a very nervous-looking Johnson. She had ushered him to a seat, and attempted to put on her best neutral, listening face.

“Look, Dr. Kim...” Ricky had started, his fingers twitching and twisting together fretfully. “I really appreciate you trying to look out for me, I really, really do. But I need you to stop.”

Mellissa had nodded, keeping her face calm and free of emotion. “Can you tell me why?” she asked gently.

“I’m ok. The situation isn’t ideal, but I’m ok. There are probably lots of other people in here that could use your help – who need someone to advocate for them.” He had shrugged, a jerky roll of his shoulders.

“Is there a reason you feel someone else is more deserving of help?”

Ricky had blinked at her a bit. “I’m ok, I don’t need it as much as someone else.” He had said at last.

“Tell me about yourself, Ricky. You’re very articulate, and clearly very smart. How did you end up in jail?”

Ricky scrunched his face up and Mellissa couldn’t tell what the emotion behind the expression was.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said at last. “The point is, my current situation is tolerable. Sean isn’t hurting me, not really. And if you move him it’s going to be open season. He’s protecting me.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “I am not going to protective custody – I’m determined to do my time in gen-pop and Sean Wolff is my best chance of surviving it.”

“At what cost, Ricky? I’m sure Sean’s help comes with a price – not to mention punishment when you step out of line. I’m not blind.”

Ricky nodded. “I know, and your concern does you credit. But I have a right to make a choice about how I deal with things – as much as I can while being here. And my choice is Sean.”

He paused and then shot her a rueful grin. “He’s not all bad, you know – sure he’s got this tough guy thing going on, and he has to make sure people see him put me in my place. But he has never hurt me more than he had to.”

Melissa’s heart had squeezed at that. “You shouldn’t be hurt at all, Ricky.”

“I know, but them’s the breaks. That’s how things roll in here and I intend to play by the rules – it’s my best chance.”

 

Mellissa scowled, remembering. She didn’t know what to think anymore, and she had no idea what she was supposed to say when this mess went to court. Because, after everything that went down, she had searched for Ricky in the system – and she couldn’t find him. Oh he existed on paper, but the man himself was gone like he had never been. Sean too was nowhere to be found. It didn’t stop there – the CCTV – what there was of it, had been corrupted, people seemed vague on the sequence of events and the cons were keeping their mouths shut.

All in all it was a confusing cluster fuck of epic proportions, and she hadn’t even gotten to the climax yet.

 

_I backed off. Just for a day or two – I was going to talk to Nicola, see what she thought the best course of action was. In some ways Ricky was right, if he was content with the way things were, then perhaps I should accept that and turn my attention elsewhere – there were many other prisoners in worse situations that could use someone in their corner. But before I could get things in order, events overtook us._

_It was a truly terrifying ordeal and one that swept the lot of us up and sent us down a dark path into the underbelly of South Haven Pen._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. 'Sean'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some vague thoughts about sexual violence and brief mention of childhood sexual abuse

 

Prison showers in South Haven didn’t leave much room for privacy, and Jason was feeling rather more than _slightly_ exposed as he followed Dick down the long corridor to the shower room. The guards didn’t give much of a crap about hygiene either, and this was the first group trip to the showers since he claimed Dick as his... whatever. The thought of Dick being his prison bitch made all sorts of feelings bubble up inside him and he did his best not to think about it.

 

But it was hard _not_ to as he watched Dick’s lean, tattooed back shuffle in line in front of him. It turned him on and it disgusted him in equal measures - and that pissed him off. It pissed him off even more that people seriously thought that he –that _Sean_ – had turned 'Ricky' out.

 

But that thought was stupid too; Jason Todd and Sean Wolff were both very different people. And the opinions of a bunch of dumb-ass convicts really shouldn’t get under his skin so much.

 

And so his thoughts went; back and forth like driftwood caught in a storm.

 

He was momentarily distracted when Dick dropped his towel to step under the spray. Jason quickly cast about to see who was watching and found... no one. He had to get his head out of his ass and back on the ball. Same as outside of jail, sexual violence inside was mostly about power – relationships, partnerships, prostitution and exchange of favors happened - but claiming another person was an act of violence. And Dick was claimed. No one looked at him, no one seemed to care about the way the sinuous curve of the tattoos accentuated and framed the swell of his ass, or the way the muscles of his back rippled when he forgot himself and tensed, then relaxed when he remembered to appear nonchalant.

 

Jason noticed though, and Dick noticed him noticing. He didn’t say anything but he gave Jason a very flat look that said: _are you serious with this shit right now? In the showers? In jail?_ Just as loud as if he had shouted it.

 

Dick flapped his mouth like a champ, but years of conditioning by Bruce meant his meaningful looks had an eloquence and weight that spoke louder than words. Jason had spent his teen years perfecting the same art and he grinned toothily at Dick, then checked him out again, unsubtly.

 

Dick’s mouth twitched into a smirk and he returned the favor, his eyes slowly raking from Jason’s crotch to chest and then back down again. Then because he was an asshole of epic, Bruce - like proportions, he shrugged and sneered a little before turning back to washing his hair with the caustic prison issue soap.

 

Jason decided Dick was being playful rather than serious with his scoffing. Either that or he was blind. Jason had nothing to be ashamed of in regards to the size of _any_ part of his body - including south of his waist, which was where Dick’s eyes had lingered before he turned away.

 

He just wished he could convince the skinny, scrappy kid inside him that was the case. He knew it to be true – and he believed it, he had eyes, after all - but he didn’t always _feel_ it. That disconnect really fucked with him sometimes.

 

The one thing he was completely cool with though, were his scars – he hadn’t bothered to hide them like Dick had, didn’t really want to. Each one of them meant something; some a badge of honor, some a warning to do better - be faster, stronger. He often wondered if that was how the rest of the BatClan felt, or if their scars just felt like failure, like Bruce seemed to feel about his own.

 

That thought brought him back to the question of why the hell Bruce had sent Dick on this mission. He could have approached Jason to do it, they weren’t on the best of terms, but they weren’t on the worst either. Dick was certainly _capable_ of doing it, but it just wasn’t suited to him, and that meant it was fucking dangerous to have him in this place.

 

Because he was afraid.

 

These cons could sense that fear, like sharks could smell blood in the water, and they would test him. And if he didn’t respond the way they wanted, he would be dead – that, or other very bad things.

 

In Jason’s opinion, that fear of Dick’s was directly related to the possibility of sexual violence. Sure, being trapped in a place like this was probably driving him mad, but he had done it before with no problems. Something had changed in the intervening years, while Jason had been… gone.

 

A childhood living on the streets and in the Gotham system, meant he had got up close and personal with enough predators he could almost sense them coming - be they scummy johns trolling for a whore to beat on, or a suited businessman that was messing his ten year old daughter behind closed doors. Some days Jason felt he could pick them out of a crowded room. Okay, so that was a bit hyperbolic, but it was close enough to the truth.

 

And likewise, he felt could spot another survivor; and Dick pinged all his senses on that side of things.

 

Thing was, predators could sense that shit too. Re-victimization was no joke. Jason was very careful about how he presented himself to the bad guys of the world. He had to appear to be more predator than prey. In here, Sean Wolff was more than an identity - he was a shield.

 

Dick, however, was emoting all over the place - despite his training, bravado and natural ability to bullshit. Jason wondered if Bruce knew about whatever had happened to Dick to instill that fear on such an instinctive level. He wondered if the bastard just didn’t give a damn, and sent him into the jail anyway.

 

Jason had to spend a moment reminding himself that despite his faults, Bruce always had his reasons. Bruce probably thought he could handle it. Because Dick had done this before, and done it well. And because even if Bruce knew about whatever had happened, if it had happened to _him_ he would suck it up and do what had to be done. And he expected nothing less from Dick.

 

That started up the pissed off, confused feelings again. And Jason could feel himself start to shake with pent up anger.

 

“Sean?”

 

Jason snapped out of his thoughts to find Dick looking at him worriedly. He realized he was tense to the point his teeth were clenched painfully and the tendons on his arms were corded and visible, straining against his skin. He wondered how long he had been staring at the ugly brickwork in front of his face. Too long, if Dick’s expression was anything to go by, and Jason grunted and forced his muscles to relax.

 

“Are you OK?” Dick whispered to him again, hiding his concern in a submissive posture.

 

“Fine,” Jason said, shortly. He could feel a flush of shame creeping up his back – how fucking embarrassing to space out like that – how _dangerous_. Dick was going to get both of them killed just by existing in Jason's space and being distracting.

 

“I'm, er... sorry if I -” Dick broke off, his mouth hanging open a bit and his eyes flicking from side to side while he searched for the right words. “Er, sorry if I over-stepped a line there, I was just messing,” he said at last.

 

The flush hit Jason’s face and spread down his chest. Dick thought he had freaked out because of the playful mockery. Jason was fucking _mortified_. He felt a sudden need to be as far away as possible – and damn the consequences. Without a word he pushed away from the dull grey tiles and snatched up his towel. As he stormed out of the shower room, he caught sight of Dick, wide eyed and shame faced, still dripping under the spray.

 

 

Jason hid in his bunk like a coward and tried not to think about anything. Thankfully the rest of his cellmates were still washing, so he had a blissful ten minutes to himself.

 

Dick came back into the cell bleeding from the nose, TJ hanging onto his arm like an anxious barnacle. Jason’s heart squeezed and his pulse started thudding in his ears. Why the fuck had he left him? Because he'd freaked out? Because he was embarrassed? What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

Dick. Dick was what was wrong with him. And if they survived until the end of this mission he was going to have to deal with that. Probably with his fists.

 

Dick lifted his head from where he was attempting to stem what had to have been the fourth or fifth nose bleed since he came to South Haven and gave Jason the stink eye. Interestingly, TJ did too.

 

Jason relief to see Dick was relatively unharmed was short lived; if Dick was feeling as pissy as he looked, he might well have lashed out at someone, and for all Jason knew he had probably started a gang war in the process.

 

“Who am I going to have to fight over that bloody nose?” he asked, kind of dreading the answer.

 

“The Russian's,” TJ answered, while Dick glared. “Like, all of them.”

 

“Awesome.” Jason lay back down and closed his eyes. All that shame and anxiety and teeth grinding earlier had given him one hell of a headache.

 

 

The next few hours passed without incident. Something Jason was learning to be very grateful for. Dick was sulking in his own bunk, blessedly quiet and Jason took the opportunity to doze and think about how fucked up his plans had become. It did feel a bit like calm before the storm though.

 

 

The predicted storm hit at last count. But not in the way Jason had expected.

 

“Where the fuck is Bill?” Spencer said to the room at large.

 

Jason sat up. The cell door was shut, final count had come and gone and Bill should have been back. The guards didn't seem bothered though. “Did he transfer to a different cell?” Jason asked, with a growing sense of trepidation.

 

“Without saying anything?” Spencer said, angrily. He stood and started pacing.

 

His agitation was making Jason twitchy, making his palms itch with the need to _do_ something. After a few awkward moments, Jason got up and came to stand by Spenser's side as he peered out of the cell. He was aware of Dick and TJ watching them intently. “Is there something I should know about?” Jason asked quietly. “There's been some friction lately, so it doesn't seem so weird that Bill asked to be moved.” Jason paused and worried his lip for a moment. “Unless it is?”

 

Spencer looked at him, his fists clenched tightly and real anger in his eyes - anger laced with an undercurrent of fear. Not good.

 

“If that son of a bitch betrayed me, I'm going to _end_ him.”

 

“What makes you think he has? Why would he? You have powerful allies.”

 

“He's been brown nosing. I don't like the way shits being done in here. Makes me unpopular in certain circles,” Spencer said, through gritted teeth. His shaved head was pale and sweating and Jason got a feeling they were in deep shit. He looked at Dick who was reading an old battered paperback with the concentration of someone who was listening very carefully. Jason hopped he would keep his mouth shut.

 

“Hey!” Spencer bellowed, making the rest of them jump, “Hey, officer!” The CO he had spotted took his time ambling towards them, his greasy looking moustache almost shimmering in the hard light.

 

“What do ya want, Morris?” the CO asked.

 

“Where's Bill got too? Huh? He never said nothing about a transfer.”

 

The CO shrugged nonchalantly. “Somewhere else. Somewhere nice and safe. Word is you're done, Morris. You and your boyfriend here.” He nodded at Jason.

 

“You fucking cocksucker!” Spencer yelled hurling himself against the bars. “You tell that piece of trash he's dead, you hear? Fucking _dead_!”

 

Jason backed off a bit and let Spencer rage. He could relate to those kinds of anger management issues, and figured it was best just to let him scream it out. And hey, maybe it wasn't Dick that was going to get him killed after all. Maybe it was going to be god-damn prison politics.

 

Spencer didn’t calm down though. There was sweat staining the front and back of his t-shirt in damp semi circles as he continued raging. Jason had pulled Dick down onto his bunk with him and they watched Spencer's pacing together. Meanwhile TJ was watching them and Spencer both, a look of dread on his face.

 

“There's more going on here than meets the eye,” Dick whispered quietly. His breath brushing against Jason’s ear and making him shiver. “Spencer knows something – this isn’t just anger, it’s fear.”

 

Jason nodded. That was his assessment too.

 

Dick nudged him with a sharp elbow. “Well get to it, hot stuff. Every time I try to talk to him he threatens to knock my teeth out.”

 

“I'm thinking, Dick-face. You know, planning? That thing we do when there is a tricky situation and we want to get a certain response?”

 

“Well think out loud. I'm going crazy just watching him.”

 

“I'm coming up with nothing but asking him flat out,” Jason admitted after a moment.

 

“Then get to it, Little Wing.”

 

Jason rolled his eyes at the nickname but heaved himself up off the bunk. He approached their roommate with sensible caution.

 

“Spence, you know I got your back, OK?” he began, and Spencer nodded without looking at him. “So why do I get the feeling you're holding something back? If shits going to go down, I need to know about it.”

 

Spencer turned to face him finally, the skin tight around his eyes. “Yeah, the shits going to go down. Those stupid cons are going to fuck up – they didn’t listen to me and they're going to add another fifty to their sentences.”

 

“Not being funny, but why should you give a crap?” Jason asked. None of what he was saying made any damn sense.

 

“I don’t, I just think it’s ironic that this stupid shit is what's going to get us killed. Their dumb-ass shit for brains plans. They so keen to suck up to the Bull's and keep things cushy for themselves – it wouldn't fucking stand anywhere else! And they accuse other people of ratting out!”

 

“We'll get to the dumb ass plans in a sec – but we're going to have to go back to the us getting killed part. Cos I feel like I'm a bit out the loop.”

 

Spencer looked at him carefully, examining him. Jason returned the favor; Spencer had pretty eyes for a big, ugly guy. A lovely shade of green-amber. But the skin around them was pinched with fear and the lines of his mouth was tense.

 

“You were kept out the loop because Breyer thinks you’re a rat. I disagreed. I ever find out I was wrong – I'll kill you, and I'll make it _hurt_.”

 

Jason bit down on a snarky comment. “They way you been taking, doesn’t sound like you’re going to have the chance. Although for the record, I'm not,” he said instead. See? He could have self-restraint when necessary.

 

Spencer nodded and his shoulders slumped. “They're going to make us fight. To the death.”

 

“Just us or the other two morons in here as well?”

 

“All of us probably. Thing is, even if we win, they're going to kill us. The other two might be given a chance. Well, TJ anyway. Your punk is, at best, going to passed to someone else, but most likely they’ll just gut him for being a mouthy bitch.”

 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, absently, his mind already racing to think of a way out – he needed more information. “And the stupid plan?” he asked.

 

Spencer sighed and leaned against the bars, squinting at the far wall. “The doctor and the shrink are onto them. The warden and his cronies got them green lit.”

 

Cold dread started sliding up Jason's back. That meant there was a hit out on them. He trusted Steph to be doing her best to keep them safe – but it was still a frightening prospect. There were gang members on the outside that could do it, as well as all the guys in the prison. But forewarned was forearmed and all that, so first thing tomorrow he would punch Dick in the face and get him up to the clinic to give Steph a heads up. She could get back-up to keep an eye on the civilians on the outside, while they worked on keeping them alive inside.

 

It would be fine.

 

But a little more information never hurt anybody and Jason carefully kept his face neutral as he dug for more Intel. “Do you know how they plan to do it? When? Seems a bit risky, a couple of cons killing each other is one thing but murdering decent members of society seems like it has life without parole written all over it.”

 

“Yeah, that's the dumb part,” Spencer said. “Well, dumb of the cons. Going to work out just peachy for the higher ups I'm sure. There's going to be a riot, it’s planned. The Mercs are going to break into the clinic, or infiltrate it. Then when things pop off, the good Doctor gets popped.”

 

And that was not what Jason wanted to hear. At all.

 

“How soon?” Dick interrupted, bursting into Jason's personal space like trouble personified. Again, not what Jason needed right then.

 

Spencer opened his mouth, bloody murder written all over his face – the guy was just _looking_ for a person to punch. Jason held out a hand between them. “Dick-Dick, shut up. Spencer, we can fight it out later. Because I for one, am not going to go down without bringing a few of these fucks with me.” Jason paused and glared at them both in turn. Amazingly they kept their mouths shut. “And I happen to like the doctor and her pretty nurse and I have no intention of leaving them to die and letting some rich douche-bags get away with it,” he paused again and drew in a breath. Dick and Spencer were both looking at him, Spencer, with his lips pursed and his brow still furrowed in rage, and Dick with some sort of amused pride. He looked pleased with Jason for some unfathomable reason.

 

“So,” Jason continued, somewhat calmer, “let’s get the facts in. When and where? How and who?”

 

Blessedly Spencer backed off, although he was still giving Dick a look that promised swift retribution later – although judging by the speed of events now unfolding, Jason suspected Spencer was going to have a nasty surprise when he tried to put 'Ricky' down and got a fist full of angry Nightwing instead.

 

“If Bill’s gone, and I'm out, then it could be as soon as tonight. Maybe tomorrow during shift change,” Spencer offered eventually.

 

“Dr. Kay doesn't work nights,” Dick said, earning another glare from his cellmate.

 

“They'll have called her in, swapped her out with Doctor Evergreen. Could happen at shift change in the morning, or it could be any time from now.”

 

“Fuck,” Dick said, eloquently. “We better get one of us up there if we can, the other can stay here and hope they don't have to go all Battle Royale on the rest of our charming cell. Not until we can call the authorities anyway.”

 

Spencer grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him in. “You got some serious nerve telling us what to do, punk. You need to learn your place,” he growled.

 

Dick sneered, an elegant curl of his lip - then he _moved -_ gripping the hand holding him and twisting, spinning to the side and slamming Spencer into the bars of the cell in one motion.

 

Spencer looked befuddled, more to do with the speed of the action than the impact. Dick was far too professional to damage a potential asset in a fit of pique. Still, he might have to, once Spencer recovered his wits a bit.

 

“Children, _please_ ,” Jason said, holding back a sigh of irritation. “Can we deal with the people who want to kill us first, and then beat each other up after? I mean if I _'m_ the voice of reason here, things are already pretty fucked.”

 

Dick grinned at him and gave him a mocking salute. “Waiting on your orders, _boss_.”

 

The way he said 'boss' made Jason's cock perk up a little, and he resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Not the time for sex thoughts, definitely not the time. He couldn't even tell if Dick's teasing interest was genuine or if it was totally innocent and Jason was just projecting. ‘Not the time for sex thoughts’ was going to have to be his mantra for the rest of this mission.

 

“Should I fake sickness?” Dick asked, breaking into Jason's increasingly derailed internal monologue. “I could puke a few times? I bet if I puked in your shoes they would have to remove me for my own safety. Might even keep me overnight?”

 

“Yeah good plan. Not the bit about puking in my shoes though. Sick up in TJ's shoes, you got to vomit in someone's.”

 

Jason was hoping the mention of TJ's name, or the potential besmirching of his prison issue sneakers would bring him into the discussion or at least lighten the mood, but TJ remained ashen faced and tense in his bunk.

 

Spencer was keeping his mouth shut too, but he was looking Dick over carefully, clearly re-evaluating his initial assessment. Hopefully he wouldn't act on his new information until they were done with their attempted rescue and Dick could just knock him out, and then they could just get the fuck out of here.

 

If only.

 

He nodded at Dick, who grimaced and set about making himself throw up. He avoided everyone's shoes and just made a mess of the floor by Jason's bunk. Fucker.

 

Jason banged on the cell door and yelled for a guard. But instead of the CO from earlier the door swung open to reveal officer Williams and three other guys. They were smirking and were all carrying tasers that didn't look like your standard prison issue.

 

“Evening, boys,” Williams said, grinning like a shark. “Fancy a walk?”

 

“ _Goddammit_ ,” Dick said, with feeling.

 

And Jason couldn't help but agree: They were fucked.

 


	16. TJ

TJ: the fight

 

This was TJ's nightmare. Had been, ever since he’d seen Martinez die. It took everything he had to stop his knees from buckling, to lie on the ground and beg for mercy, but the thought of Sean or Ricky seeing him shame himself somehow won out over the fear of being brutally murdered by them. The human psyche was fucking weird sometimes.

 

Sean looked pissed off and tense. Ricky, living up to the crazy as always, looked kind of pumped, like the adrenaline was welcome rather than a sick feeling in his stomach. Spencer looked like he might attack the guards and tasers be damned. He was shooting Ricky little contemplative looks too. That altercation in the cell had him rattled. Had TJ a little rattled too, to be honest – he would probably have been more concerned if he wasn't somewhat distracted by his impending death.

 

Whatever. It was clear, to TJ at least, that there was more to Ricky than met the eye and that he and Sean had been in tight situations together before. It added weight to his theory that Ricky also worked for the Red Hood. Maybe they weren't just informants. Did the Red Hood have enforcers? Lieutenants? God, if he ever got out of this mess he was moving to the West Coast for sure. No Bats there - no demi-Bats like the Red Hood either, who offered a good deal but was so not worth it.

 

Who was he kidding? He wasn't walking out of here, _period_.

 

TJ knew where this was going, and he knew he didn't stand a chance against any of them. He had seen Sean in action, so he knew if he was up against him it would at least be quick. Spencer was spitting mad and obviously wanted to cause something pain, which meant that might not be so quick – although anger made people sloppy sometimes. Maybe TJ could use that against him? Get under his guard?

 

Probably not.

 

Then there was Ricky and his weird altruistic streak. He might have had a chance there – but the thing with Spencer in the cell, and his constant lack of the right kind of fear, made TJ doubt that now. That and the fact pure altruism didn’t fucking exist. Make it life or death and the need to survive always won out.

 

“You doing ok, TJ?” Ricky whispered to him as they walked.

 

“Are you serious?” TJ said, incredulously. “Am I doing ok? No, I am not fucking doing ok, you freak!”

 

“So, not so good then?” Ricky said, then yelped as a guard poked him in the back with his inactivated taser.

 

“No talking!” The CO said.

 

Ricky was eyeing the taser like he was seriously considering snatching it off the guy and lighting a fire under his ass. TJ couldn’t decide if he was glad or not when he didn’t.

 

They were led into the exercise yard, over to the cages where the really dangerous guys in solitary got their weekly hour of exercise. The perfect place for two desperate men to beat each other to death.

 

There was a collection of inmates fling in – all the higher ups in the Southside Mercs and their foot soldiers – including that fucker, Bill, smirking at Spencer and Sean as he took up a good spot by the fence. There were also the leaders of various other gangs and a random selection of inmates. They looked notably less pleased and excited – this whole event was a show of power by both the CO's and the Mercs, and everyone else hated it.

 

TJ idly wondered what would happen if things popped off in here. Would enemy gangs band together to take down the Mercs? They certainly hated them enough. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. Although his brief fantasy of being freed and fighting against the bad guys was momentarily uplifting, the fact was he was just as likely to get trampled in the scrum than rescued.

 

They were cuffed to the fence to await the announcement of their fate. Spencer was not taking it well and was straining against his bindings, lunging towards Bill and his insufferable smirk like an enraged attack dog. 

 

Ricky and Sean both looked tense but not terrified out of their minds, like TJ felt was the natural response to this situation. They were both eyeing the assembling inmates with that same eerie calm as they had that first day in the yard; like they were sizing up prey, like they hadn’t realized they _were_ the prey. It was disconcerting - they could at least had the decency to pretend to be crapping themselves about having to fight.

 

Sean leaned his head down slightly and they began muttering to each other in a language TJ didn’t understand, eyes still flicking between inmates and guards. Their voices were low and urgent, but their faces were still calm.

 

Officer Williams strode up to the front of the crowd and raised a hand for quiet. “Ladies and Gents,” he said, inclining his head towards the leaders of the lesser gangs when he said 'ladies'. It was a huge insult and wouldn’t stand anywhere else, but here, the threat of the ring was enough to shut down any violence.

 

“Two fights for you tonight!” Williams continued, “First a warm up of two little junk yard dogs, yapping each other to death,” he gestured towards TJ and Ricky, “and then the main event – Morris vs. his snitch-girlfriend!”

 

A lot of shouting greeted this announcement. TJ heard his own name being yelled and the question: _'Why him, where am I gonna get my pussy pics?'_ was shouted loud and slightly mournfully.

 

Great, his criminal legacy amounted to: he was good for getting me sub-par porn ripped out of cheap skin mags. His ma would be so proud.

 

Ricky patted him on the arm and gave him a sympathetic look, the bastard. TJ couldn’t even tell if he was being serious or not.

 

“Hey!” Sean yelled suddenly, his voice carrying even over the commotion. “Who the fuck am I supposed to be snitching too? It’s not like I’m greasing the palms of these fuckheads is it?”He said, gesturing to Williams and the other guards. He sounded like he was honestly curious.

 

Williams glared at him with pure hate – which was weird because he had been basically half way up Sean's ass before yesterday. Something had definitely changed.

 

“Yeah, you keep talking like a big man, Wolff,” Williams said, stalking forward.

 

Sean looked him up and down, insultingly slow, then used his free hand to indicate his height verses Williams. “Looks to me like a _am_ a big man, at least compared to you,” he drawled, then, he very obviously looked at Williams crotch and then down at his own, pushing his hips out slightly. “Unless you’re trying to compare the size of our dicks? Because yeah, not much of a competition there, tiny.”

 

The crowed loved that, and the rival gangs all cheered and stamped their feet.

 

Williams face went beet red. “Shut your mouth, you fucking rat!” he yelled over the noise. Sean gave him a shit-eating grin with far too many teeth on show.

 

Ricky held up a hand like he was a kid in class, but didn’t wait to be addressed. “Why are you hating on him for being a rat, when you’re the guys he would be snitching to?” He shouted into the clamor. An important question, TJ thought.

 

“He’s an informant for the Batman!” William shouted.

 

If it had been loud before, the explosion of noise in response to that was almost deafening. But not quite so much that TJ missed the snorting wheezing noise that Ricky made before he pushed his face against the fence and his shoulders began to shake with what appeared to be laughter.

 

Sean looked honestly surprised, then offended, then kind of rueful. “Seriously? _Seriously_?” he muttered, resulting in further muffled squeaks of laughter from Ricky.

 

“Man, who fed you that bull?” Sean yelled over the racket. “Of all the fucking things?Me and the Bat do _not_ see eye to eye. Who ever gave you that crock of shit is having you on, officer.”

 

“I don’t think so, rat!” Williams shouted, grinning. No matter what Sean said now, the crowd was going to go against him, and Williams knew it. Just a sniff of that kind of scandal was enough to get your throat cut and hearing from the screws was basically his death warrant being signed. TJ wondered if it was to late to pretend he didn’t know these two idiots. Ricky was _still_ sniggering and had actual tears in his eyes.

 

Not waiting for the commotion to die down, money started exchanging hands. People seemed to be betting against Sean winning mostly out of spite, and by the same measure there seemed to be a lot of support for TJ killing Ricky, who was about as popular as syphilis. TJ really didn’t think he had much of a chance though. He was a scrapper, sure but he had no actual skill in fighting, he had no particular advantage over Ricky, and had never actually killed anyone before. Not that he thought Ricky had either, but then, what did he really know about the man? Other than the fact he was nuts and apparently on _very_ good terms with Sean.

 

As if hearing the direction of his thoughts Ricky wiped his damp eyes and turned to face TJ, blocking him in, and crowding him uncomfortably. TJ tried to step away and give himself a little space, but found his back to the fence. Ricky closed in further, he wasn’t laughing anymore, and TJ had a sudden burst of fear.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, TJ,” Ricky said, apparently sensing his unease.

 

TJ realized that their position meant no one in the crowd could read their lips, but he pitched his voice low just incase someone could hear over the yelling crowd. “So you’re just going to let me kill you?” he asked scornfully. Yeah he would believe that when he saw it.

 

“Nope, in fact I will be quite pissed if you try. But I _am_ going to let you win. We can tussle some and exchange some blows, but then I’ll drop and you pretend like you’re going to finish it. But don’t actually do it.”

 

“I don’t think you really understand how this works, fish, “ TJ whispered back, fiercely.

 

“Oh, I think I do. Just make it look good and don’t kill me. If you do, you might live to regret it.” He grimaced slightly, as though that idea left a bad taste in his mouth. “Sean will see you dead. And he probably won’t be very nice about it. I don’t want to see that happen, for either of you. So you’re going to have to trust me.”

 

TJ squinted at him. Trust him? He had known the man less than a week; he had life long friends who he still didn’t trust the way Ricky was asking. Ricky also seemed genuinely upset at the prospect of Sean murdering him. TJ wondered if that was what they had been discussing earlier. He peeked around Ricky's shoulder and met the full force of Sean's cold stare. Yep, he was fucked if he won and fucked if he lost. It was quite possible he didn’t have any choice but to place his trust in this madness.

 

“What if Sean loses his fight?” TJ couldn’t help asking, “what if you both die?”

 

Ricky rolled his eyes slightly, like TJ's logic was irritating him on some basic level. “He won’t lose. But on the off chance he does, or the guards kill him anyway – need I mention powerful friends in scary places? Believe me, my way is better.”

 

“Ok, ok – I get it, I’m dead if you’re dead. But what makes you think that they’ll allow me to let you live? They might just kill us both if I refuse to finish it!” TJ struggled to keep his voice down, he could feel panic welling at the back of his throat.

 

Ricky made a placating gesture with his free hand. “Stay calm, TJ. Take some deep breaths, ok? Think about it. As well as the violence this nonsense is fun because it’s exciting, right?”

 

TJ nodded woodenly. Exciting; that was one word for it.

 

“And they like a bit of crowd participation, right?”

 

TJ nodded again, suddenly seeing where Ricky was going with this, but also seeing the glaring flaw in the plan. “You want me to offer them the choice if I finish it. Thumbs up or down, like the Romans, in the coliseum and shit?”

 

“Exactly! It’s been done before here, hasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, some fights. Who told you that?”

 

“Sean, don’t know who told him. Anyway, that means you can pause before the final blow and let them choose.”

 

“Yeah, great,” TJ hissed, “except that there is not a single person in this whole damn jail that’s going to give you a thumbs up! They’re all really looking forward to seeing you dead, Ricky!”

 

Ricky grinned at him and nodded enthusiastically. “Yep, they all would kind of like to see me get horribly murdered. But I figure a few might really, really want it extra painful. Like the Russians for instance.”

 

TJ gawped at him. He was shit-balls crazy. His life was in the hands of a madman. “Yeah the Russians definitely want to see you in screaming pain after that stunt you pulled earlier. Well done. If you weren’t going to die tonight, pissing them off might have been the dumbest thing you’ve done yet,” he offered after a moment.

 

Ricky gave him a small, amused smile, bordering on a smirk. “Was it?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

Before TJ could shake him or yell at him or maybe break down and cry, the crowd went wild and TJ realized he and Ricky were about to be forced into the ring. Out of fucking time. His knees felt weak again. 

 

“ _Trust_ me,” Ricky said, suddenly serious, “I’m not going to let you get killed.”

 

TJ didn’t reply, he just focused on walking where he was led. Sean was still glaring at him – somehow conveying the promise of a horrible death without needing to shift his face in the slightest.

 

“Make it look good, TJ!” Ricky whispered as he stepped past and into the ring, to the jeers boos of the assembled inmates.

 

Williams was talking to the crowd again, whipping them up into a frenzy of bloodlust and excitement. TJ wasn’t listening though; his ears were full of a buzzing sound and the lights looked too bright. He took a few deep, steadying breaths. Having a panic attack or passing out was not part of the plan. He had to pull it together.

 

“Any time you girls want to start?” Williams asked, when TJ and Ricky just stood looking at each other instead of fighting. TJ felt sort of stupid, actually. He wasn’t sure how to go about this. As if reading his mind Ricky put up his fists in a poor imitation of a boxer and took up a stance that looked more daft than frightening. Of all the things TJ had expected to feel at this moment second hand embarrassment had not been one of them.

 

However, the crowd made an approving noise, so TJ stepped forward, his own fists rising to guard his face. He advanced, not sure what else to do.

 

Ricky bolted. He ran for the fence and tried to open the door. The crowd seemed torn between laughing at him and deriding him. The idiot was determined to fuck himself over anyway he could.

 

Confidence bolstered, TJ went after him. Ricky ran again, but TJ was quicker and grabbed him by the shirt, swinging him back into the center of the makeshift ring. They had managed to position themselves right in front of the damn Russian mob, who all looked very pleased by this turn of events.

 

Ricky threw a clumsy punch; it barely grazed TJ's shoulder. This was actually embarrassing, and for a moment he wondered if he had imagined the speed and grace with which his friend had moved earlier in the cell.

 

Not friend. Friend was a bad idea. Comrade, conspirator, cellmate; those where better words.

 

He swung a punch of his own, hitting Ricky right in the face; he winced at the impact, and at the blood that once again started running from Ricky's nose. But, the guy had said make it look good, so he swung again. This time it barely touched skin but Ricky went down like he had been hit in the head by a block of cement. The crowd cheered and TJ resisted the urge to look at his own fist in amazement. He knew it was fake, but for a moment it had felt like it wasn’t, like he was _strong_.

 

Ricky sniveled on the floor for a moment while TJ tried to decide what to do. Then apparently bored of waiting Ricky scrambled to his feet and charged, knocking TJ over. They both hit the floor, hard. Then, with the breath still knocked out of them, they began rolling around - throwing elbows and fists at each other. Ricky was pulling his punches some, TJ could tell – he could feel the coiled strength in him, as they twisted around on the hard gravel of the ring. If they had been fighting in earnest, TJ figured he would probably be nothing more than a bloody smear on the cold stone floor by now.

 

Eventually, during one especially energetic tussle, Ricky whispered, _“Finish it”_ and TJ found his hands around the other man’s neck. He pressed hard, but not enough to cut off his air, despite the thrashing Ricky was doing in response and the hands clawing ineffectually at TJ's wrists.

 

It would be easy to just squeeze a little harder, take advantage of Ricky's trust. But it wasn’t just the feel of Sean's wrathful gaze on the back of his neck that was holding him back, damn it.

 

He was acutely aware of himself, the sweat on his forehead and the pressure of his fingers against Ricky’s skin. The crowd was shouting and he looked up at them. They were cheering him on. He sat back on his heels; still straddling Ricky’s body and watching him gasp and wheeze. He was very convincing, worryingly so.

 

TJ wasn’t quite sure what to do next so he raised a hand, thumb up, and then turned it down, then he shrugged. The crowd cheered and surged. Ricky was right about one thing at least; they did seem to like the audience participation.

 

TJ had been right too, all of the thumbs he could see were pointing down. Even _Sean’s,_ the bastard, but his gaze was still cold and fierce, and TJ was still in no doubt if he chose wrong he was as good as dead.

 

Still unsure of what he was supposed to do next, TJ turned to Williams for the final decision. But Williams was in deep discussion with the Russians. An agonizing few seconds passed, before money appeared to change hands and Williams gave him a thumbs _up_.

 

Unreal. TJ felt light headed.

 

Two Russian enforcers came into the ring and strolled towards them. TJ scrambled back, as they came to haul Ricky up under the arms.

 

TJ’s ears were ringing again, and not just with exertion. How far ahead did Ricky plan for this eventuality? Was the earlier altercation with the Russian mob a chance encounter he was now taking advantage of, or did he antagonize them on purpose? TJ wasn’t even sure which option was more disturbing.

 

As the two Russians dragged Ricky past him, and TJ could have sworn the crazy guy _winked_ at him from under the fall of hair and blood. And yeah, TJ had survived – for now. But he couldn’t help wondering what Ricky was so pleased about – seeing as he was probably about to be tortured to death.

 

But you know, whatever. He probably had some other terrifying plan up his sleeve. Or at least TJ sure hopped he did, because he wasn’t sure if he could actually sit back and watch the guy die. Damn it.

 

 

 

 


	17. 'Sean'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Violence, bit of gore, speculation about sexual assault, general nastiness.

Jason watched Dick fight with a mixture of feelings. He was so embarrassing, but also kind of brilliant, his ridiculous antics managing to reassure TJ while simultaneously placing himself right in front of the Russian mob.

While the fight took place, Jason ignored the stares - and occasional angry shouts over the frankly insulting accusations of being a snitch for Batman - and tried to think about how many ways this terrible, cobbled together plan could turn to shit. There were a _lot_ of ways, and far best to think them though now rather than wait for them to actually happen. Jason kept up a steady glare on TJ, just in case he got any wild ideas, but he was fairly certain he would go along with the plan. It wasn't like he had a lot of choices - they had him pretty much in a bind. It was what was going to happen _after_ the match that had Jason starting to sweat.

To say he felt some trepidation as Dick was hauled off to the Russians was putting it rather mildly. Dick had put these particular guys in prison; he knew them, had studied them for weeks. They had pride, did things in a certain way, and they were the most likely option to keep him alive until after the fight. Then, in the privacy of their cell, there would be a very unpleasant night ahead for Dick-Dick Johnson. It was a risk - a _huge_ risk, if Jason and Dick failed to execute the rest of the plan in a timely fashion - but it was better than the alternative. The Southside Mercs would have just murdered him on the spot.

Still, the next hour was not going to be fun for Dick. He could handle it though. Jason had to just keep telling himself that.

It was a lot easier said than done. Once by the benches Dick was forced to his knees and slapped in the face a couple of times while the men around him laughed. Jason spent that time trying to calm his anxiety; This was fine. Dick could deal with a bit of violence and humiliation. After all, Jason had given him far worse himself.

This would be _so_ much easier if Jason didn't give a crap about his stupid family or if he had just been in here alone. Although, with the turn things had taken in the last twenty four hours, he wasn't entirely certain he would have been able to get out by himself. He wasn't going to mention that to anybody though.

While the cage was being given a perfunctory clean and bets were changing hands for the next fight, TJ was lead back to where Jason was waiting, still cuffed to the fence. They didn't even bother securing TJ, he looked such a mess – with his legs barely holding him up and an expression of profound panic still painted on his face.

Jason kept half an eye on Dick, who was doing fine, considering, and held out his free hand to steady TJ as he sagged against the fence.

“You doing okay there, buddy?” he asked.

TJ blinked at him, but said nothing.  He was also watching the Russians as they slapped at Dick's head and face and pulled on his hair in a deceptively playful manner.

“You did good,” Jason offered after a moment.

“Good? It would have been kinder to strangle him when I had the chance!” TJ hissed, resting his face against the fence.

“Yeah, I know it’s going to get ugly later, but we got a few hours to act. Its enough time.” Jason's gaze kept being drawn back to Dick, like it was being pulled by an invisible force.

“Hours?” TJ shook his head. “They're going to send for Kevin. They did it before. You've not even got _minutes_ , man.”

Jason's heart rate sped up with even the _possibility_ they had miscalculated. “Kevin?” he asked absently, mind already racing ahead to contingency plans, “Doesn't sound very Russian.”

“What? What is _with_ you people? Who gives a fuck about his _nationality_?” TJ almost shouted. He lowered his voice again though, as he took note of the people around him. “Kev the Cat,” he muttered. “You've never heard of him?”

“Kev the _Cat_? Seriously? Doesn't exactly strike fear into my heart.” Jason said, but even as the words left his mouth the memory of a mugshot swam into his mind – he had gone over all the possible trouble makers before he had entered the jail. Kevin 'the Cat' Kinnock was supposed to be in solitary, damn it.

“Sean, I'm not dicking around here!” TJ continued, oblivious to Jason's suddenly racing heart. “They call him 'The Cat' because of how he's both an asshole, and a sadistic sociopath who likes to play with his prey before killing it. If he's on your payroll, you have some serious clout. He only does wet-work for others if you pay him a shit-ton. Does it for himself all the time though. Hence the reputation.”

Jason drew a calming breath and turned his glare up to full power, TJ winced. “Okay. So first, you're going to tell me everything you know about this guy, up to and including why you think he's going to be working for the Russian mob today. And then you are going to tell me why you didn't mention it _earlier_.”

TJ looked suitably disturbed by the implied threat, but then his face took on an expression reminiscent of Dick at his most stubborn. “I didn't know you two were going to pull this stunt! By the time I did it was too late! And anyway, I had other things on my mind, like not _dying_.”

Jason held himself back from lashing out. TJ was right; just because he wanted to punch someone in the face didn't mean he should. A mantra Alfred had attempted to teach him in his first year at the manor. It had only been moderately successful. “So how do you know they're going to bring this guy out? Why would they?” he asked, but at the same time he figured he already knew the answer: if Kevin only worked for a lot of cash, using him meant a show of strength. And using an outsider meant if he did something especially unsavoury, especially if it was sexual in nature,  then it wouldn't reflect on them. Just install the kind fear that gave them power.

“Because they did before,” TJ said, looking faint again. “But less public, to fix up an internal dispute. There was a power-shift when all the guys from Gotham got transferred here. They had to make a point to their own people. But they have their pride too, you know? They're fucking ruthless, but things have got to look good from the outside.”

“Who'd they make him kill? And how the fuck do you know about it when I didn't?” Jason asked.

“He killed two of the top Russians for the current boss. They gave him Martinez too, and Jamil Thomson, some others maybe. He doesn't like non-whites.”

“I thought Martinez died in a fight.”

TJ shook his head. “He _won_ his fight. He was into some kung-fu shit, really good at it too. He won, but they handed him over anyway. There was a lot of screaming.” TJ visibly swallowed, he looked like he might throw up. “I saw it,” he added, forestalling Jason's next question. “They had me on clean up crew.” He nodded to where a nervous looking inmate was haphazardly scrubbing up the blood in the cage.

This wasn't a minor fuck up - they had badly miscalculated. It wasn't like their options had been great to begin with, but they hadn't taken into account how things might have changed in the gang over the months since Nightwing helped put them in jail. Things like how the pressure of the fighting rings and the dominance of the Southside Mercs had altered normal business practices and given legitimacy to fucked-up freaks like 'Kev the Cat'.

Getting shit wrong and having people balls up your well thought-out plans was kind of par for the course in their line of work. What Jason was having trouble with was the fact Dick was going to have to pay the price of that while Jason had a play-fight with Spencer in the cage. While that was completely unacceptable it also seemed like he didn't have much of a choice.

Jason watched as two burly men bound Dick's hands behind his body, wrist to elbow and back. Not an easy bind to break out of, not quickly anyway. He could see Dick was tense, he knew something was off too, and he was staying quiet as he was manhandled, watching and trying to figure out what was pinging his senses.

Jason cast around for Kevin, and even if he hadn't vaguely known what the guy looked like, he would have marked him once he saw him. The man was watching Dick with an impassive facial expression that, nonetheless, managed to exude predatory anticipation. Jason saw the moment Dick spotted him too, no doubt sensing the danger without fully knowing what it was. They seemed to lock eyes for a moment, before Dick looked away to continue scanning the crowd, but his body had stiffened slightly under that stare, shifting on his knees to be in a better position to spring to his feet if he had to.

Time was up for changing their plans though, and when two guards with tasers came to led them to the cage, both Jason and Spencer went without trouble. What else could they do?

As the gate closed behind him Jason offered Spencer a friendly grin. “For what it’s worth, I'm not actually a snitch for Batman – far from it.”

“Yeah? Well, this is still your damn fault!” Spencer replied hotly.

Jason rolled his eyes so hard they hurt, “How? How the hell is this my fault? You're the one that's been whipping up unrest in the gang. Seems like I was just unlucky enough to have backed the wrong horse and got thrown to the wolves alongside you.”

Surprisingly, despite his scowl, Spencer seemed to accept that, nodding his head slightly and grimacing. “I'm still going to have to kill you though,” he said, almost apologetically.

“Well, you're going to try,” Jason agreed amicably, “but after, if we both somehow manage to survive – no hard feelings, yeah?”

“Survive? You're living in a dream, Wolff. You’re as crazy as your mouthy bitch, aint ya?”

Jason sighed. “Seems like it.”

Spencer looked towards the Mercs, all clamouring for his blood. Even his previous supporters were joining in - an effort to save their own necks now the balance of power had shifted. Then he looked across to Dick and the Russians, before turning back to Jason, his expression contemplative. “He's not really your punk is he?”

Jason raised an eyebrow – looked like Sean Wolff was well and truly burned as a cover. “No, he's not.”

“Sucks for you, I guess. It’s not going to be a good way to go.”

Spencer looked almost regretful – for Jason's loss rather than Dick's pain he suspected, but still, surprising. He resisted the urge to sigh again. A shrink would have a goddamn field day with his fucked-up psyche -  the fact that a small kindness from a good for nothing, racist piece of shit gave him the warm fuzzies probably indicated he needed some serious therapy.

“No hard feelings,” Spencer said at last, and charged.

Avoiding him was easy – his main fighting technique seemed to be ‘go full steam ahead, fists swinging’. But those blows that Jason blocked with a raised arm had an awful lot of power behind them. If one slipped through his guard and got him in the head or face it could quite easily knock him senseless. Luckily, Jason was rather good at dodging punches.

Neither Jason nor Dick had really expected things to kick off this quickly or to have ended up in the ring themselves, and they were nothing if not flexible, but even so, there was definitely a few things that they probably should have factored in to their plan.

Like Kevin the psycho, and Spencer's freight-train like fists.

Something _Dick_ had not factored in, and the thing Jason was kind of counting on to keep them alive if the worst happened, was how Jason's notoriously fiery temper was tightly linked to his slightly overactive protective instincts, and how those two things really kicked into overdrive when it came to certain types of violence - and by overdrive he meant the black, seething rage that sometimes sucked him under and spat him out minutes or hours later, with brain matter splattered on his face and some wannabe rapists blood dripping from his bruised knuckles.

That rage, his desire to protect Dick, as dumb and shameful as that was, and a few nifty toys he had secreted on his person (or _in_ his person as it happened) were the things Jason had in his arsenal  - Dick just had his wits and his undeniable talent for extreme violence. That and the fact he didn't _look_ like the kind of guy who could take down a room full of armed thugs without breaking a sweat or pausing his annoying quips.

Those were the positives they had on their side, despite the fuck-up that Jason listed in his head as he dodged a punch that cut far, far too close to his face.

But as always there were also some things Jason had failed to factor in, too.  

Like how how fucking distracting his anxiety over Dick was – he couldn't spring into action and save him if he couldn't goddamn _see_ him, and Spencer kept moving, so half the time Jason wasn't in a good position to keep an eye Dick without turning his head and giving Spencer an opening.

In short; his concentration was _fucked._

Jason was busy trying to get a look at Dick as he was being confronted by Kevin, when Spencer took him down with a powerful punch to the side of the head.  Luckily, Jason was pretty good at taking punches as well as dodging them and he only got knocked on his ass, blinking away black spots in front of his eyes, rather than being knocked flat out unconscious.

Spencer pressed his advantage and launched his not inconsiderable bulk straight at Jason, flattening him to the rough sand floor. The impact knocked the breath out of him and it was a few confusing moments before he could do anything except fend off the blows raining down on him.

Still, his eyes were drawn towards Dick, who appeared to be craning his neck to watch Jason being pummelled. His expression was incredulous and faintly amused.

 _Embarrassing_.

Jason hooked a leg over Spencer's and flipped him, following up with a few punches and then springing back, panting and trying to salvage a little dignity.   Spencer got up slowly and did the same, giving Jason a few moments to really assess the situation.

Dick appeared to be playing up to his tormentors in a typical Dick-like way. Jason couldn't hear the words being said but the expressions on the faces of the surrounding men indicated there was some sass going on. But Jason could also see the lines of tension in Dick's body and the way his bound hands were carefully shifting, fingers twisting and, stretching for ropes he couldn't quite reach.

Spencer spat blood in the dirt, drawing Jason's attention back to the ring. “He's a dead man, Sean. You really gonna risk your life for him?”

Jason shrugged. “Surprised you care. Gives you an advantage doesn't it?” he shot back.

Spencer made a face, ignoring the catcalls from the watching men who wanted less talk and more violence.  “You queer for him?” he asked, he sounded like he was trying to sound disgusted but ended up closer to honestly curious.

_Since I was fourteen years old._

“A little. Maybe.” Jason said, surprising himself. It was strangely freeing to say. He grinned. “This shit seems kind of pointless doesn't it? Fighting each other when these guys are just going to murder the winner anyway?”

“At least the winner dies with a bit of pride,” Spencer spat. He was clearly still trying to process Jason's earlier admission.

“Fuck pride. I want _revenge_.”

Jason had Spencer's interest. Maybe he could draw him in, get him to throw the fight like TJ instead of just taking him out. It would be better that way, to have another potential ally. He could do it too, he could sense it.

But before Jason could put any of his half formed plans into action his attention was once again drawn to Dick, as he heard him curse loudly. He turned in time to see Kevin drag him forward by his hair, pulling him partly behind the benches and out of Jason's view. His stomach dropped. Not being able to see Dick was way worse than watching him get slapped about, especially now things seemed to be kicking off. The Russians and a good portion of the Mercs were now watching Dick and Kevin rather than the fight in the ring.

There was a lot of noise – jeering and shouting, and through it all Jason could just make out Dick's voice cussing up a storm. Was he faking? Was he in real trouble? He was still bound when he was dragged off, had he managed to free himself? What was Kevin going to do?

He wished he had done more research but the fucker was supposed to be in _solitary_.

“You want revenge?” Spencer said, breaking into his thoughts. “Not much point in fucking pipe dreams is there?”

Jason could feel his chance with Spencer slipping away, he had seconds to decide how to play it.

Then, it seemed there was no choice at all. TJ, whose position on the other side of the fence gave him a good view of whatever was going on, suddenly lunged forward with a wordless yell. The stupid fool seemed to be about to fling himself at the Russians and Kevin, heedless of the fact they could kill him as easily as squashing a bug - but before he could get much more than a step, one big, bearded Merc shot out a hairy arm and caught him, holding him back firmly but without violence.  Jason recognised him as the man who had been upset that TJ''s fight might be depriving him of future porn. Apparently he was still very attached to having TJ as his supplier –attached enough to bodily prevent him from being a suicidal moron. Jason made a note to himself not to kill the guy on the way out.

Then several things happened at once.

“Get off him you sick freak!” TJ yelled, still struggling fruitlessly against his unlikely saviour.

Dick's voice rang out again, loudly this time, with real feeling. “You _fucker_!”

Jason couldn't tell if that was anger, fear, pain or a mix of them all. He could read Dick’s body like an open book, but not his voice and with his mind already going to bad places, all Jason could hear was fear – and even though he one hundred percent knew that he was probably projecting, he had to act on it.  He took a step forward, to get in a position to see for himself.

A bunch of the inmates on the bench also leaned forward to watch, while the rest averted their gaze in distaste.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a taser – and if that was Dick getting shocked he would be defenceless.

Time to move.

Jason stuck his fingers down his throat.

Spencer looked utterly dumbfounded as Jason vomited onto the sand and quickly bent to snatch something from the muck.

Contingency plan the first: A tiny laser cutter, about an inch and a half long. A handy bit of tech he had stolen off an intergalactic mercenary - although the idea of bringing it to a fight stashed in his belly had come from a crazy story Roy had told him about Dick. Because of course that was the sort of thing Dick would do. And Jason was not above stealing his ideas.

He pointed a finger at Spencer. “Sit this out or join me, I don't care – but get in my way and I'll kill you, got it?”

Spencer nodded, face still stupefied.

Jason was at the gate in two strides, the laser cutter made quick work of the lock, then the first guards taser and most of his thumb, as it rested on the trigger button.

Two more strides, and he took out a further couple of guards. This time he aimed for the hands, the laser cauterizing the wounds as flesh and bone fell to the ground still clutching the weapons. Jason scooped the up tasers as he passed, shaking off the still gripping fingers and ignoring their owners screams of shock and pain.

One step. He shot a guard in the chest with one taser, and a Merc enforcer straight in the face with the other.  They dropped. Jason kept moving.

It had barely been thirty seconds since he had vomited, and the Russians and Kevin had barely noticed the commotion, their attention focused on Dick.

It was clear from the scene that whatever had happened had been enough for Dick to stop pretending and lash out for real. Jason took a moment to take it in, and time seemed to have become as slow and sticky as honey.

Two enforcers lay bleeding, unconscious while another lay on the ground groaning, the rest of the Russians and a few of the more bloodthirsty Mercs were moving in angrily to take their places.

Dick was lying flat on a bench, with Kevin practically on top of him. Despite the barbs from the taser still attached to his chest, he had his arms free and one hand around Kevin's throat. Kevin was going slightly purple, but still determinedly hanging on to the knife he had stabbed into the outside of Dick’s thigh. Distantly, Jason noted that it didn't seem to have done much more than superficial damage, but what was bothering him a lot more was the fact Dick was mostly naked. His pants were off and his shorts had been haphazardly cut open, revealing lots of skin and lots of blood. Kevin could have been sexually assaulting him, he could have been attempting to castrate him, or had just been poking him with a couple of holes like the one on his thigh. Jason didn't care, he felt the rage rise.

Then Williams shot Dick with a second blast from his taser and Jason _lost_ it.

  
  
  
  



	18. TJ

TJ watched in horror as Kevin grabbed Ricky by the hair and tugged him onto the bench, pushing him flat and slashing at his clothes. Kevin, it seemed, was a creature of habit – he was going at this exactly the same way he had gone at Martinez, and TJ's whole body shuddered at the memory. He had never seen or heard anything like it. Martinez had begged, pleaded and bargained before his voice became nothing more than ragged screams. TJ still had nightmares about it, the cries still ringing in his ears as he woke.

He couldn't watch the same thing happen to Ricky. He just _couldn't_.

Three men were holding Ricky down while Kevin straddled him, a wicked-looking knife in hand. Kevin was talking; maybe telling Ricky what he was going to do. TJ could see Ricky's chest moving faster – he didn't think the fear was fake. Like a shark scenting blood, Williams was standing by, watching with a rapt expression on his face and clearly enjoying the show.

TJ's heart was beating in his chest so intensely he felt like it might explode out and splatter the fence.

Distantly he noticed Ricky's shoulders rotating, twisting back unnaturally. Was he trying to get out of his bonds? He saw that Kevin had his hand and knife inside Ricky's boxers and TJ remembered with sick clarity exactly what had been done to Martinez with that knife. Before he really registered what he was doing, he was lunging forward, knowing that it would achieve nothing but also knowing that he couldn't stand by and watch again.

Someone caught TJ around the waist and held him back. He struggled against the big hairy arm restraining him but it held fast. His captor said nothing, just pulled him back against a firm chest and watched events unfold.

Distracted by trying to squirm free, TJ missed the moments leading up to the start of the mayhem, his attention only drawn back when Ricky suddenly started thrashing and shouting. One of his legs broke free and his foot clocked a guy on the chin, then he got another one with his heel – the blow hard enough to knock the guy flying.

“You _fucker_!” Ricky yelled, and twisted one arm free – smacking Kevin hard in the face with an uncoordinated punch.

“Oh man,” TJ's captor said, “Oh man, this shit's gonna be _bad_.”

TJ ignored him, focused on Ricky's struggling. For a second he thought he was going to make it - that maybe he was going to win against all the odds - but then Williams stepped forward and fired his taser, point blank into Ricky's chest. 

TJ tried to lunge forwards again, but the man restraining him was unmovable. Thankfully, it seemed TJ wasn't the only one who'd had enough of the show - there was a sudden burst of activity from the cage and a surge in noise. TJ had all but forgotten Sean and his fight against Spencer, but he made his presence known now, as he broke free from the cage. TJ didn't see how he did it, but Sean was out and plowing through the guards with a terrifyingly focused intent.

Shockingly, despite the taser, Ricky had also rallied, and to TJ's amazement his hand shot out and grabbed Kevin around the throat. Kevin stabbed him in the leg, but Ricky didn't let go. He looked _pissed_.

Four guards were down and screaming by the time Sean seemed to pause to take in the tableau in front of him. There was a moment of stillness, it felt like they were all teetering on the brink of a chasm of complete chaos and TJ felt breathless as he watched, waiting for the inevitable tumble.

Then, like a clap of thunder the crackle and buzz of Williams’ taser sounded again, and Ricky cried out, his grip on Kevin jerking and relaxing.

Sean _exploded_ into motion.

He was like a one-man tank, mowing down anyone in his path and raining blood and destruction down on those too stupid to turn tail and run. It was terrifying, horrifying, but pretty effective. He was moving slowly, whatever weapon he had started with had been lost in the fighting but that wasn't hindering his progress any.

While the guards seemed torn between trying to regain control and running for their lives, the Mercs and the other gangs seemed to be emerging from their shock and gearing up to join in the battle – although against who was anybody's guess at this point.

One of the Mercs, a lieutenant close to Breyer, rushed at Sean, the glint of a blade in his hand. His head snapped back under the force of Sean's punch, blood arcing through the air like a waterspout. Without breaking form, Sean grabbed the blade from the man as he fell and stabbed it into the shoulder of the next guy stupid enough to attack him.

The fall of the lieutenant seemed to work as a catalyst and emboldened by the confusion and violence the lesser gangs were beginning to attack the Mercs and guards in earnest. The guy holding TJ clutched him closer, like he was some sort of comfort blanket. “Oh shit,” he said, like it was a prayer. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit_.”

TJ realized what he was seeing was the start of a full scale riot.

Dizzily he turned his attention back to the others. Williams was nowhere to be seen; like the rest of the guards he had obviously realized it was run or die at this point and had taken off. Kevin was still on top of Ricky, it was unclear exactly what was going on but it looked like Kevin was dry humping him while trying to cut his nipple off...which… No. The man looked gone, high on blood and pain. Ricky, somehow still conscious despite the double tasering was holding the knife away from his skin in a weak grip, wrists shaking with effort or the residual tremors from the electric shock.

Sean had stalled in his efforts to reach his friend, the sheer number of attackers holding him back. TJ watched with horror as he nearly went down, a man with a nasty-looking shank coming up on his left side and drawing back to land a disabling blow – then the guy went down in a heap under the force of Spencer's fists. TJ blinked in surprise as Spencer grabbed the blade and went back to back with Sean.

The tide of the fighting shifted, and the man holding TJ finally relaxed his grip as the chaos threatened to overwhelm them, which caused TJ to stumble forward. In front of him there was blood on the ground, bodies twitching and men groaning. By the sounds coming from the cell block behind him the riot seemed to be spreading to those not invited to the murder games. He had to get to Ricky - to whom he owed nothing, but somehow found himself bound to.

He darted forward, using his wiry frame to doge around the pockets of violence and headed straight for Kevin and Ricky. He overtook Sean, who was once again wading steadily through the melee. TJ had no idea what he was actually going to do when he reached Kevin, unarmed and rather shit at hand-to-hand, but soon ran out of time to come up with a plan and just body slammed the guy, sending them both tumbling over Ricky to land on the floor. They grappled for a moment, squelching in the blood as they flailed about. Then just as TJ thought he was going to get stabbed in the face and die an indignant death, Ricky rolled on top of them and blocked the knife heading for TJ's face. He grinned, a little manic with blood stained teeth, and almost casually broke Kevin's wrist. Kevin screamed and thrashed but Ricky ignored him.

“Thanks TJ! I was almost a gonna there I think!”

TJ gaped at him and nodded awkwardly from his position on the floor. Ricky was still grinning, but he looked a state and very unsteady. TJ wanted to ask what the fuck was wrong with the man, but the words got stuck. “I think Sean's lost his mind,” he said instead.

Ricky's gaze shot to where his friend was still fighting, liberally splattered with gore and apparently completely gone in whatever rage had taken him. Spencer was there too, looking angry and flushed, but holding his own.

“ _Dammit_ ,” Ricky said, with feeling, and he heaved himself up, still a bit shaky and twitchy. His leg was bleeding and he grabbed what might have once been his t-shirt off the floor, and quickly and efficiently tied it over the wound. Then he paused a second to stamp on Kevin's head, knocking him unconscious and probably rattling the man's brains for good.

And then, like the lunatic he was, he launched himself straight into the fray, barefoot and wearing nothing but the remains of his shorts.

TJ stared. If he thought Sean moved like a deadly fighting machine, Ricky was like a dancer – but one that was felling men like trees, with his fists and feet. He didn't bother taking any of the weapons from the fallen; he didn't need them.

“Sean!” Ricky called, “Sean! We have to get up to the doctor’s office!”

Sean, apparently lost in his own head, just stabbed a guy in the eye and carried on through the maelstrom.

TJ was momentarily confused until he remembered that they had planned to save the doctor from being murdered during a pretend riot. Of course there was now a full scale, very _real,_ riot happening all over the place and the fact Dr. Kay was green lit hardly mattered. They fact she was female was more than enough to get her killed - the shrink too. God he hopped they were both tucked up in bed and this dumb theory that they were here to get murdered tonight was just bullshit. TJ wasn't one to dwell too much over other peoples ‘misfortunes, but he liked the Doc and the thought of what might happen to her turned his stomach. What might happen to _him_ was slightly more concerning though.

He thought about getting up to help, then he thought about whether he could make it back to his cell if he made a dash for it. But in the end, he just stayed huddled on the floor and watched in disbelief.

Bill and his cronies had been wading through the mass of people, clearly aiming for Spencer and Sean, but as Sean seemed to have forgotten what he was doing and was just attacking everyone who came at him with extreme prejudice, the Mercs seemed to have wisely reconsidered and were concentrating on Spencer alone – he seemed to be struggling under the onslaught. TJ had lost sight of Ricky's slighter form in the scrum, but then he shot up into the air, flipping over one guy, barely touching down and then using Sean 's broad shoulder to leap even higher and take down two of Spencer's attackers with a double strike of his bare heels. Sean ignored him completely and continued trying to beat a guard to death, because a person using you as a springboard was totally normal apparently.

Spencer looked shocked at the rescue, but then disappeared from TJ's view again as he was swallowed up by the tide Ricky then went for _Sean_ , which seemed to TJ to be both stupid and completely suicidal. But then: _Ricky_.

He inserted himself between Sean's fist and the guard, dogged a follow-up blow and blocked Sean's knife hand almost casually. Then he touched Sean's face and spoke to him, TJ couldn't hear what was being said, but after a moment where the battle raged around them, Sean seemed to snap out of his blind fury and he pulled Ricky in for a quick gore covered hug. Ricky grimaced and waved his arms in distress, gesturing towards TJ's hiding spot. Sean reached back, grabbed Spencer by his bloodied t-shirt and hauled him towards where TJ was still huddled on the floor with the unconscious Kevin, his hands and knees covered in Ricky's blood.

The whole episode had taken less than five minutes, but it felt like hours.

TJ watched them fight their way towards him and thoughts were tangling in his head – who were these guys? Seeing Sean fight he'd had the brief ridiculous thought that he was Batman. Then he had stabbed a guy in the head and TJ remembered the no killing thing. Unlikely to be Batman. Then he had seen Ricky launch himself above the heads of the combatants and had wondered if _he_ was Batman. But then dismissed it – too young, Batman had been around forever. Ricky would have been kid when the Bat started out. He decided to stop thinking about it before he reached a conclusion that could get him disappeared or dead.

Unfortunately, he couldn't stop thinking about Sean. About how Sean had been so damn sure TJ wasn't going to die, who was convinced there would be a rescue and that the Red Hood wouldn't abandon him. Him, TJ - not _them_. Dangerous thoughts, probably brought on by hysteria. No-one had ever seen the Red Hood’s face. TJ had never even met him, only communicated with him via upper level people like Sean. His brain seized up a little at the possibilities. Was the Red Hood the kind of man to deal with the death of his people himself? Unlikely, but not impossible.

TJ tried to keep his panic on the inside where it couldn't get him killed.

“TJ!” Ricky yelled, as they approached. “Stay close. We'll keep you safe!”

Safe. TJ wasn't convinced. He had been safe before these two had burst into his life.

They edged around the benches while the battle raged. Ricky wiped at the sweat on his brow, smearing blood like war paint. “We need an action plan. We need to get this shit under control.”

TJ wanted to say 'no kidding!' or 'good luck with that!' but instead he was caught staring at Sean, who looked like some old god from Celtic myth, splattered with blood and vibrating with battle rage.

“I can hear you thinking, TJ,” Sean said, his voice rough with exertion and excitement. “Would be a shame I had to rip your throat out for thinking too much, so stop it.”

TJ nodded jerkily. Right. Stop thinking about how the quite scary Sean Wolff, who was the world’s least enthusiastic member of a white supremacist prison gang and clearly had the hots for his mad but very limber friend, was possibly the utterly terrifying and mysterious Red Hood. The same Red Hood who was rumored to have once beheaded the chief lieutenants of all the major drug pushers in Gotham, and who once allegedly castrated a child rapist and left him hanging from the top of the Gotham police headquarters.

Yep, he would stop thinking about that right away.

“Leave him be,” Ricky said dismissively, while Sean continued to glare. He looked a little wan, and the wound in his leg was sluggishly bleeding through its makeshift bandage. “We have to try to reach the doctor, if she's here. And rescue the rest of the guards if we can.”

Sean snorted. “Right - first, I'm not rescuing any of those murdering bastards and second, you’re leaking blood all over the place and your ass is literally hanging out of your shorts.”

Ricky grimaced down at himself as his fingers inspected his ripped clothes. “Yeah not my finest look. Don't have much choice though.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Spencer interrupted suddenly. “What the fuck just happened?” Like the rest of them, Spencer was liberally splattered with blood, but his expression was one of bewilderment, and his broad face was pink with anger. “What the fuck?” he said again, when no answer was immediately forthcoming.

Ricky ignored him. “TJ, you know the layout better than me, will the doctor be in the office do you think? What's the quickest way?”

“We don't even know she's here,” TJ pointed out. “I vote for hiding. I'm useless in this fight!”

“Overruled,” Sean growled. “You're safest with us, so that's where you're staying.”

TJ opened his mouth to object and then shut it again. Not arguing with Sean was probably the best option for his continued health and well-being.

“The fuck are we rescuing the doctor for? What the hell?” Spencer was clearly still struggling with making sense of the situation.

“We're rescuing the doctor because we can,” Ricky snapped at him.

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” Spencer said. He was eyeing Ricky with a baffled expression on his red face. “How'd you learn to fight like that?”

“I took some classes. Turns out I’m quite good at kicking ass.”

“Which is good because your mouth keeps getting you into trouble,” Sean interrupted. “Can we please stay on track?”

TJ shifted his weight from foot to foot, the adrenaline still pumping through him like a drug. “The doctors office is reinforced. It's obviously a weak spot for taking hostages and attacking staff, so there are a lot of precautions in place. They're safe there – safer than us anyway!”

“Not if a member of staff helps inmates gain entry,” Ricky shot back.

“But that would be recorded – weren't you guys saying the whole point of them offing her this way was to place blame on the cons?”

“The morgue,” Spencer said, suddenly. “TJ's right, the doctor’s office would be impossible to gain access to without inside help, but the morgue is vulnerable. It’s small, only enough space to put one or two cons on ice before pick-up and it’s not part of the jail inmates would really bother with. Less safeguards in place. It’s what I would do, if I were planning it.”

Ricky stared at him for a moment then broke out in a huge grin. “Thanks, Spence! That's really useful – easy to bring her in off schedule to examine a body."

“Don't ever call me Spence again,” Spencer growled.

Ricky gave him a toothy smile. “What'cha going to do about it?”

“Hello? Riot? Rescue? Remember these things?” Sean said, rolling his eyes. His mouth was twitching in amusement though. “So do we split up and cover both or just bet on the morgue being right?”

“Split up?” Ricky suggested. He didn't seem sure though.

Sean worried his lip. “If they're in the doctor’s office then they are safe for the moment. If they're anywhere else then they're in trouble. I say we head toward to morgue.”

Ricky nodded. “OK. We head there – but we help those we can on the way.”

Sean opened his mouth again, his brows drawing forward angrily, but Ricky waved him quiet with the flap of a hand. “No arguments, I've had a traumatic evening and I don't feel like having to box your damn ears for being a punk on top of all that, got it?”

Sean's face contorted through a number of interesting expressions, finally settling on poorly hidden concern. TJ took another look at Ricky – under the manic exterior he looked exhausted and tense – he had lost a lot of blood and, as he had mentioned he had been through some pretty bad shit today. It was easy to forget when he was grinning like a loon or barking orders at his friend.

“Not to interrupt this weird-ass lovers tiff, but we better get this show on the road before the bulls restore order,” Spencer said and gestured towards the guard towers sitting empty at the end of the yard. The CO's involved with the fights had all been down in the yard, leaving the guns unmanned. Stupid mistake, but one they were almost certainly planning to rectify.

“Right,” Ricky said decisively, “Sean take point, then Spence and TJ. I'll take the rear as I'm going slow.”

 Spencer growled softly at the mangling of his name, but did what he was told, following Sean out from behind the benches and heading for the cells. TJ wondered that if that was Ricky's slow fighting, what the hell was his fast fighting like?

“Alright TJ?” Ricky asked.

TJ nodded “I'm good. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Ricky clapped him on the shoulder and gently pushed him forward. “Let’s do this thing!”

The freak sounded almost excited by the prospect.

 

  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left such wonderful comments! And thank you all for your patience! Only a few chapters left now!


	19. Nicola

Nicola was amazed at how fast she had come to the ridiculous and upsetting conclusion that she had.  A month ago she would have been certain there had been a mix up, searched for another explanation. But the moment she opened the empty drawer in the morgue – she just knew she was in deep shit.

The text had come from Dr. Evergreen. If she survived this, she was taking that asshole  _ down _ .  He’d told her there had been a fight, several prisoners wounded in medical – could she come in to do a quick exam of the one in the morgue? It was one of the boys from the special project with Doctor Kim. He hadn't even specified which one. Like a fool she hadn't questioned it – had in fact jumped at the chance to investigate further – to try and get some kind of justice for whoever was going to be lying on the slab when she arrived, even if it was Morris or his ilk. 

She was glad she had resisted the urge to contact Sophia, and she hoped the girl was beneath Evergreen's notice and not worth luring into this trap. At this point, she was pretty damn sure it  _ was _ a trap - with the empty drawer staring up at her, mocking her gullibility. 

When the morgue door opened suddenly, she almost crapped herself. Then survival instinct took  over and she dove sideways, making a grab for the first thing she could use as a weapon. She glanced at the object in her hand: A clipboard. Great.

She wasn't sure if she felt relief or just more dread when Melissa Kim backed through the door, half crouched and clutching one of her kitten-heeled shoes like a weapon.

“Melissa?” Nicola hissed. Any lingering doubts about her own paranoia were immediately dispelled. The two of them here in the middle of the night? Not a coincidence.

Melissa jumped, brandishing the shoe. “Oh my God, Nicola!” she whispered fervently. “They told me to come in because Ricky Johnson had been killed, and he had been found with a note addressed to me and it was in the morgue and I didn't even know there  _ was _ a morgue here! So I came and they sent me here and no one was around and-”

“Breathe, Melissa.” Nicola said, a familiar feeling of professorial calm falling over her in view of someone else's distress. “No one's dead.”  Yet. 

“Not  _ yet _ ,” Melissa said, echoing Nicola's thoughts. Seemed like they were on the same page already. “There's something going on in here  - screaming and shouting, and noise like thunder!” She shuddered. 

Nicola wet her lips.  She hadn't been here for the riot of '09 but they had shown some of the CCTV of it during training. Seven people had died. 

“We need to get out of here,” she said, although she felt she was rather stating the obvious.

Melissa nodded jerkily. “Can we call for help?” she asked hopefully, as she picked up the phone with the hand not clutching the shoe, but her face fell. “Dead.” 

The word hung between them like a bad smell.

“Right, we need to think this through.” Nicola said.  “This room is vulnerable; if we can’t get out we need to try and make it back up to the office.”

“That's the other side of the unit.” Melissa was looking around frantically, as if searching for somewhere to hide.

“Yeah. But we can make it if we go smart,” Nicola said with more conviction than she felt.

Melissa nodded tentatively.  “We should see if there's anything useful here first.”

Before Nicola could agree the door opened again. This time, an inmate stood poised in the threshold, the light shining harsh and bright behind him. Nicola recognized the man, but her panicked mind couldn't supply his name. King? Kingston? Kingly? It was such an unimportant detail but her brain seemed stuck on it.  He grinned, showing more gaps than teeth.

_ Kingsley, Ben. Meth addict, in for robbery and attempted murder. _ Her mind helpfully supplied.

While she was still attempting to process this completely useless information, Melissa gave a short, terrified scream and lobbed her shoe at him. It struck him a direct hit to the forehead and he recoiled, looking surprised. 

That expression turned rapidly into one of shock, as another inmate rushed him from the left. The walls and floor were splattered with blood from Kingsley's neck and chest as he went down under a frenzied attack.

The second inmate pulled himself back up. He was short, wiry and had thinning brown hair. Ryan Daniels: bright, friendly, and chatty, in for a collection of non-violent offences. She looked at the arterial spray spurting weakly from beneath Kingsley's relaxing fingers as he gurgled his last breaths. Non-violent. Right. 

Daniels smiled almost apologetically. “Sorry Doc, it’s nothing personal you know?”

“That doesn't make it any better,” Nicola said. She was still holding the clipboard – but it was hardly going to do much more than make him laugh at her if she tried to hit him with it. 

He shrugged. “Well at least I'll make it quick. It’s better that way, rather than what some of these others will do to you first.”

“You could protect us instead, get a reduced sentence for your service. You don't have to do it this way,” she pleaded.

“I do, I'm afraid. It’s not just the bounty, it’s my way of life I need to protect.”

Nicola readied her clipboard. She might be going down but she was going to leave as much evidence as she could and do as much damaged to this sociopathic little shit as it was possible for one terrified, unarmed woman to do. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Melissa slipping off her other shoe and holding it like a bludgeon. 

He stepped forward, shank in hand, but before he could do much more than smirk at her a small fist shot out behind him, striking him on the back of the head and sending him stumbling forward. Sophia stepped almost casually into the room behind him and brought her heel down sharply on his knee; the crack of it breaking was like music to Nicola's ears. The sound of Daniels’ scream seemed to snap something in her brain and, suddenly overcome with rage, Nicola swung her clipboard at his head, repeatedly. Maybe only three or four times but it shut him up.

“Oh my God, Sophia!” Melissa yelled, as Nicola forcibly prevented herself from trying to cleave Daniels head from his shoulders. 

“Hi guys,” Sophia said. “I have not got a fucking clue what's going on but I'm guessing riot.” Her voice was almost painfully calm, but her face was pinched with worry.

“Yeah, a riot,” Nicola said, her own voice was only shaking slightly. “And a hit. What the hell are you doing here? Did they message you too?” 

“Yeah. And they told me someone had died? Who was it?” she asked, eyeing the closed drawer. 

“No one. They lied.” Nicola said and watched as Sophia relaxed slightly. She was starting to have strong suspicions the girl wasn't who she said she was – but in these circumstances that could only be an advantage. “So, as the only kickboxing crime enthusiast among us, do you have a plan?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do, but you're not going to like it.”

  
  
  


Sophia was right; they didn't like it. 

“No one is ever going to take me for a man!” Nicola said hotly, looking down at herself dressed in Daniels’ ill fitting, blood-splattered jumpsuit. “This is the worst plan ever and we are going to get  _ killed _ .”

Sophia grimaced. “It's not the best, but this room is indefensible, and they are going to be coming for us – we have to cross from C wing to B right through the main dining hall – this gives us more of a chance,” she said, and waved a hand to cut off Nicola's next sentence. “Yeah I know it won't pass a close inspection, but I'm hoping they will be busy fighting among themselves and we can just slip by. This is all we have, ladies, so we better make it good.”

“I think I'm rocking it,” Melissa said, tying a strip of white sheet over her head as a makeshift cap to hide her long hair.  She looked slightly abashed when they both looked at her. “Well I make a more convincing man than you,” she said, and then laughed, slightly wild. “God I think I've lost my damn mind!”  

“You and me both, girl,” Nicola muttered, putting the finishing touches to her own ridiculous headgear. 

Sophia had on Daniels’ prison issue white t-shirt and her own grey pants – they could easily pass for inmate sleep gear. Suspicious, and Nicola also noticed that she had her breasts bound, creating a much more masculine figure than she usually had. She had come prepared. 

“Right, head down to hide your faces but don't cower. Walk, don't run.”

Stepping out into the hall was one of the most terrifying things Nicola had ever done.

But she did it. 

  
  


Incredibly, they made it to the main hall without incident. Although they passed a couple of inmates on the way they seemed intent on whatever it was they were doing – either trying to find some place to wait out the chaos or causing as much gleeful destruction as they could. 

But of course it was only a matter of time before the shit hit the proverbial fan, and naturally it could only happen at the worst possible moment. 

They reached the hall and paused, slammed by a solid wall of noise and mayhem. There was fighting and shouting as pockets of inmates attempted to destroy everything they could – napkins, trays and plastic cutlery were the most common victims, but they had made a pretty good attempt at smashing up the tables and chairs too. 

They made their way slowly and as unobtrusively as possible around the edge of the room, and had nearly made it to the midway point when there was an eruption of activity by the door. There was screaming and pleading followed by the sounds of serious violence.  One man broke free and ran towards them – he was liberally splattered with blood and Nicola was horrified to see he was wearing a guard’s uniform. 

“Fuck!” Sophia said, as the man charged towards them, chased by a group of inmates. He didn't seem to know where he was going or how he was going to escape – he was just desperate to get away. 

Nicola froze as the guard and the chaos following him descended on them, and then she was swallowed up in a seething mass of angry, spitting, punching, humanity. She lost sight of her friends, of the guard, she even lost sight of the floor as she was buffeted and tumbled in the center of the fight, and it felt like being caught in a rip tide. Something struck her head, knocking the sheet-cap askew and other impacts to her legs and back disorientated her, sending her spinning. Glancing blows; nobody was trying to shank her – yet. But she was sure it was only a matter of moments before they realized who she was and turned their attention from the wailing guard to her. Distantly she heard another female voice screaming. Melissa? 

It felt like she had been under for hours, but it had probably only been a minute, less maybe, when she felt a strong hand grip her arm and pull. She fought weakly but couldn't gain enough purchase to escape and was dragged from the melee by force.  Breaking free of the fighting mass of people was like coming up for air after being submerged in a whirlpool. 

She was pulled backwards against a man's chest and the swung sideways away from the fighting, toward the door to B wing. She blinked up at her attacker and found him staring intently back into the fight. It was Sean Wolff. He looked like he had been dipped in a vat of gore, not a single part of him free of splattered blood. Most of it didn't seem to be his though. 

His grip on her arm was firm but not painful and she wondered if she should attack him while his attention was diverted. 

Smoke suddenly exploded from the center of the fighting, billowing out like a vicious cloud and causing screams and panic. She jerked away and would have fallen if not for Wolff's grip on her.

“I got you,” he muttered, unmoved by the smoke, and presumably the fire that had caused it. 

Dizzily, Nicola watched as Melissa and 'TJ' Jeffries emerged from the murk – they appeared to be holding onto one another and keeping each other upright. They were wearing almost identical expressions of terrified confusion. It would have been funny if she wasn't completely sure she didn't have the same thing written all over her own face.

“Go, go!” Sophia shouted.

Nicola could feel Wolff hesitate, muscles tensing. Then Sophia and two gore-splattered men appeared at a wobbling trot – the men had the bloodied body of the guard slung between them. At the sight of them, Wolff finally jumped into action and all but dragged Nicola towards B Wing.  

“Come on, doc, don't got much time until the troops sort themselves out and come at us again,” he growled, as he tugged at her arm. Nicola wasn't sure if she was being attacked, rescued, held hostage or what, but they did seem to be heading in the right direction. 

She turned her head as she was hustled onward – trying to catch a glimpse of her friends. Melissa was behind her, still hanging on to Jeffries, behind them were the men hauling the guard none to gently, but at least they weren't murdering him. It was hard to tell who they were from this angle, but one was wearing nothing but his shorts. Behind them, Sophia was going backwards to see off any pursuit. And see them off she did: When a bunch of inmates entered the corridor behind them, Nicola saw her chuck something small and black to the floor in front of them, and another cloud of smoke bellowed out. 

Sophia must have caused the smoke in the dining hall too. Nicola's mind buzzed. If what she suspected about the girl was true, then who was involved? Was Wolff? She eyed what she could of his face as he propelled her up a flight of stairs. Angry, focused, covered in other people’s blood. He had put rather a lot of folk in her infirmary during his few weeks in South Side Pen. To many, to violently to be a cop, surely. So then why was he helping? Was he helping? Or was he waiting to double cross them?

Somehow their ragged procession reached the familiar doors of the infirmary. And Wolff paused. Looking at her for the first time. “You doing okay there, doc?” he asked. “You got the code to get in here?”

She blinked sweat out of her eyes. Did she try to refuse? Get in without them? Or was it pointless? Was he really trying to help her? Or was he trying to get the 'bounty' for himself? Nicola shuddered, shit, she had to pull herself together  - it didn't really matter in the end, it wasn't like she could do anything other than what she was told right now.  Decision made, she nodded and moved towards the lock. It needed a key and a code, and she had both. But it seemed she wasn't the only one. 

“There's blood on this key pad,” she said, on the door around the keyhole too. People were inside – guards hopefully. 

...or not. Her life might well be in danger from them too, the traitorous bastards.

“Guess we've got to be prepared for company,” Wolff said grimly. “You catch that, Florence?” 

Sophia swatted Wolff's hand of Nicola's arm, and he scowled angrily, but the girl ignored the fearsome expression and gave Nicolas shoulder a comforting pat. “You holding up, Dr. Kay?”

“Yeah,” Nicola said. She didn't sound convinced, even to herself. “The guards might not be to happy to see us either, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. We're going to have to take down whoever is in there, until we're sure who's side everyone is on.”

“Are you insane too?” Jeffries suddenly demanded, as the rest of the group caught up. “Why is everyone I meet in this place bugfuck crazy?” His eyes were round and indigent despite the fear still written on his face. 

Nicola kind of agreed with him - but never let it be said she was one to panic in a completely fucked up, life threatening situation. “Sophia and I should go first, they might not realize the rest of you are here until it’s too late if we distract them.” she said with all the courage she could muster. 

Sophia nodded. “My thoughts exactly. If I can get close enough to disarm them, then Sean and Ricky can take care of the rest without getting shot.”

“Lady, I don't know who the hell you are,” Jeffries said, “but Ricky can barely stand up!” He waved an arm wildly at the two inmates behind them.

Nicola blinked at them; huh the guy in the shorts  _ was _ Ricky Johnson. Of all the people she had expected to be part of this motley crew, he was not one of them. The other inmate was Spencer Morris, even  _ more _ unlikely – if for different reasons.

“He's fine, TJ,” Wolff said, dismissively. “It's a flesh wound, looks worse than it is.”

Ricky gave them a bloody grin and a thumbs up with the hand that wasn't propping up the guard. Nicola could see why Jeffries thought they were crazy. 

Without being told, Wolff seemed to know what Sophia wanted him to do, and herded the rest of them out of the view of the door. 

“Right, ready nurse Ratched?” Wolff said.

Sophia stuck her tongue out at him. “Go fuck yourself,” she said happily, as she unbound her hair and ruffled it up. Then as Nicola and the others hid she started to bang on the door and scream, crying out for help and pleading. 

“Who's that?” a voice from inside the office called finally.

“Sophia! Help me please! The doctor has been hurt and I'm trapped out here! An inmate took her key!”

Nicola nodded her head in spite of herself. That was clever; if an inmate had a key they could only get in if they also had the code - and they only way they could get that was from Sophia or Nicola herself. So to insure they remained safely behind the locked door, they had to let her in and fetch Nicola from where ever she supposedly lay wounded. 

As predicted, the door opened and Sophia pushed herself in, still screaming and crying. The door closed again and those left outside waited with baited breath. Then after what felt like the longest two minutes of Nicola's life, a couple of guards cautiously stepped out and made their way towards the hiding spot. 

Wolff took them down with brutal efficiency and with barely a whisper of noise. It was scary to witness, but at least he didn't kill them, which Nicola was grateful for. 

Sophia called out for them to enter. Nicola used her key and typed in the code, her fingers shaking. 

Inside Sophia was sitting on CO Williams’s back, one of his arms twisted up behind him, keeping him down. She had a gun pointed at the other guard who was staring at her in complete disbelief. 

They hauled the two unconscious guards inside, as well as the wounded one from earlier and then shut and locked the door. Nicola couldn't believe they had survived. 

She sat behind her desk, more out of habit than anything else, and put her head in her hands, just breathing for a while. She could hear the others chattering, moving the wounded guard onto the exam bed. She would have to deal with that in a moment. 

“You bitch!” Williams was saying, “You traitorous cow!” Then his voice cut out into a gurgle. Reluctantly Nicola opened her eyes. Wolff had the CO by the throat; he was squeezing hard with little indication of stopping.

“Don't you dare, Sean,” Ricky said warningly – a note of command in his voice that anyone who had met him earlier in the week would have been shocked at.

It was him, Nicola realized, he was the one undercover with Sophia. Maybe they had convinced Wolff and the others to help them, perhaps in exchange for a lighter sentence or, in Jeffries’ case perhaps just for self preservation. 

“You going to stop me ganking this sack of shit, Dick-Dick? You can’t barely stand on your own.”

Ricky winced as he heaved himself up from his perch on the side table, but he made it upright, a stubborn set to his jaw.

Wolff rolled his eyes so hard it must have hurt. “ _ Fine _ , you sanctimonious  _ douche _ .” He released his grip on Williams and the man fell to the floor, unconscious. 

Sophia put him into the recovery position, non-too gently.  Then set about restraining the other guards, who looked both shocked and terrified. 

“What now?”  Morris said, the first time he had spoken during the whole ordeal. “We just going to sit tight or what?” He was pacing restlessly, eyeing the guards like he wanted to tear them apart with his bare hands. 

Nicola watched him carefully. He and Wolff still presented a threat as far as she was concerned, and she noticed Melissa doing the same. She was also giving Ricky a lot of surreptitious confused glances and Nicola hoped there would be time at some point to share her theory with the other woman.

“Waiting sounds like the best plan,” Ricky agreed, lowering himself back into his seat and taking the medical supplies Jeffries handed him. He pulled back the edge of his blood soaked shorts and started unwrapping the makeshift bandage around his upper thigh.  

Nicola was about to offer her assistance when Wolff stepped in. “Let me do that, you moron,” he said, snatching the antiseptic and bandages out of Ricky's hands and shoving him over slightly, so he could crouch by him on the floor.

Ricky gave in without a fight and stretched his leg out to give Wolff better access. Then he smiled over at Nicola who was half out of her seat but not prepared to intrude in case Wolff turned on her. Also, he seemed to know what he was doing. Perhaps not that surprising, but still vaguely unsettling. 

“Perhaps you could see to the guy we rescued?” Ricky asked, politely. The fact a convict was roughly cleaning out the ragged wound on his thigh didn't seem to be bothering him any, despite the fact it must have been extremely painful.

“Melissa and I will help,” Sophia said, smiling disarmingly and offering Nicola a hand up. 

  
  


In the end it took a further twelve hours before the phones were switched back on and confirmation of a rescue was given. During that time there had been terrifying attempts by inmates to gain entrance to the infirmary, but none had succeeded.  The guards remained bound on one side of the room, with Wolff or Jeffries giving them toilet breaks when necessary. There was no food and no electricity – but there was water and enough medical supplies to insure everyone could get there wounds seen to. 

The prisoners rested at a respectable distance from Nicola and the others: Morris was restless and often got up to stare at the guards menacingly. As long as he didn't hurt them, Nicola couldn't bring herself to care much about the scared expressions on their faces. Melissa spent her time talking to Jeffries, who still looked a little shell-shocked. Taking care of someone else seemed to be doing wonders for Melissa's state of mind though.

Sophia was curled up in a chair, fast asleep. Nicola wondered in that was a thing they taught you in cop school – take downtime when you could get it, as Ricky was asleep too, his head on Wolff's shoulder.  Wolff remained awake and alert the whole time, although his cheek was pillowed on Ricky’s blood matted hair. 

Nicola had come to the conclusion only Ricky and Sophia were undercover cops, but the relationship between Ricky and Wolff seemed to be a close one, she just wasn’t sure in what way. During the long boring hours waiting for rescue, Nicola entertained herself thinking up possible scenarios that could make sense of it. Perhaps they had been childhood friends or sweethearts whose paths had diverged to the extent they ended up on opposite sides of the law. Or perhaps fighting for their lives earlier had forged a tight bond. But it was most likely Wolff was an informant of some kind, one who had seen the opportunity to help himself further by aiding Ricky.  She remembered his genial good nature when she had treated him for his nosebleed – how despite being a violent member of a racist gang, he had acted boyish and disarming around her – in order to get what he wanted. The truth was, men like Wolff were mercurial, able to adapt to the needs of others to get what they could out of them. She hoped Ricky kept his head about him when dealing with that one. 

Although she hoped rescue came soon, explaining the whole mess was going to be extremely hard, and keeping Jeffries, Wolff and Morris alive and out of the clutches of angry guards and even angrier inmates was going to be troublesome at best. In some ways this waiting was just the calm before the storm. 

  
  
  



	20. Aftermath: TJ

 

The hours after the 'rescue' were almost as terrifying as the riot itself – although less in the O _h my God I'm about to be stabbed to death_ and more in the _what the fuck is going to happen to me now will I be gutted in my cell or strung up by an angry guard?_ kind of way _._

TJ knew he had an overactive imagination sometimes, but they were genuine fears and ones that he was not alone in. They had negotiated the 'release of the hostages' carefully and when the SWAT team rushed in, TJ and the other prisoners had been laying on the floor, hands on heads.

Even so, the cops had not been gentle.

Now nursing a black eye and bruised kidneys, TJ was waiting in a single cell down in the block where they used to house the death row inmates. They weren't closed in like in the SHU, they could see and speak to one another – which TJ was grateful for. Most of the time, anyway.

“We are so fucked,” Spencer kept saying, over and over. “If we hadn't tried to help we never would have ended up here.”

TJ had to agree with him, sort of - although he was glad the doctor and her crazy assistant were OK. And Dr. Kim too. Dr. Kim was actually pretty awesome when she wasn't trying to stick her nose into other people’s business. But now they were going to be in jail for the rest of their natural lives, which, in TJ and Spencer's case, was probably going to be pretty short.

Ricky didn't look so good either, he was flushed and his eyes a little glassy. Sean had assured TJ it was blood loss and a mild infection. But TJ knew it was only a matter of time until it was a major infection, and all the complications that went with it.

Not that the rest of them looked much better. They hadn't received any medical attention since being taken down to the cells and they were all sporting the injuries from the riot, plus those from the beatings they had taken during the 'rescue'. The cops and guards had waited until their hands were safely cuffed before letting rip, like the bunch of brave assholes they were. Spencer had got off the lightest, with only a boot or six to the back. TJ and Ricky had received a bit of a kicking, but Sean had got it worst - when released from his bonds, Williams had gone for him with a nightstick, beating him on the head and shoulders, hard enough to knock him senseless. Ricky, showing his customary lack of self preservation, had twisted around despite his bound hands and kicked Williams in the knee hard enough to send him off balance. That resulted in Ricky being tasered _again._ TJ was worried about that, too - there had to be a limit to how many times a person could be shocked within twenty four hours without causing problems, and the way he was sitting slumped against the back wall, his face pale and his eyes shut, was causing TJ all kinds of anxiety.

Seeing Sean hurt had been upsetting too - he was used to Sean being a shit-scary unstoppable force, that seeing him unconscious and bleeding from the nose had made him look vulnerable – and young. TJ realized he might actually be a few years older than Sean – he had just always seemed so in control and hard edged that TJ hadn't noticed before. Thankfully his blackout hadn't lasted long, and he was now awake and angry while sporting two very black eyes and a broken nose.

TJ hated jail. He hated the cops and guards, crime and vigilantes, and all the shit he did to land himself here with these crazy people. He really hoped Ricky and Sean (and even Spencer) managed to survive whatever was going to be chucked at them next. Mostly he was just tired and terrified.

And tired of _being_ terrified.

It was with a sense of dread and resignation that he watched officer Russell approach the cage, cuffs and shackles in hand.

“Get that scared rabbit look off your face, Jeffries,” Russell said, quiet. “Doctor Kay told me what you boys did for her. Those of us whose honest owe you our thanks.”

TJ blinked at him. “Where you taking me?” he asked instead of dealing with the weird mix of feelings Russell's statement brought up in him.

“Transfer to Gotham. Some bigwigs in the system are having kittens over this shit. There's going to be a lot of heads rolling, and keeping you lot alive to testify is going to be a pretty big part of it.”

“Staying in the 'Haven isn't going to be good for my health is what your saying?”

“In a nutshell, yeah. Now get your ass in gear. You too Morris.”

TJ heaved himself up and stuck his hands out of the bars to be cuffed. Sean and Ricky were both watching him. Ricky was smiling haphazardly, but Sean looked mildly concerned. At least TJ thought he did – he felt he was getting better at telling apart the micro expressions under the glaring and cold, murder stares but the bruises and dried blood made things harder.

“S' alright,” Ricky slurred. “We got this.”

Now Sean looked much more concerned and reached through the bars of his cage to feel his friend’s forehead and check his pulse. “Do you think we could get a fucking doctor in here at some point?” he asked, voice icy.

Russell nodded. “I'll send someone when I've dealt with Jeffries and Morris.”

“Wait, just us?” TJ asked.

“Yeah, I only got transfer papers for you two. These others are going to elsewhere. Maybe Gotham Central or Black Gate. It’s above my pay grade.”

TJ wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was going to miss them, but not their crazy. “Look me up when you get out,” he heard himself say, and almost wished he could take it back – he could only imagine the kind of trouble they might get him into. And oh my _God_ did he just invite the Red Hood to look him up on the outside? What the fuck was the matter with him?

“Take care, TJ” Sean said. “Spencer, thanks for your help man. You look out for TJ when you get where you going, you hear?” TJ felt the 'or I will hunt you down and disembowel you' was fairly implicit but he wasn't sure if Spencer picked up on it. The big man just nodded as he was led out by another guard.

“Bye Spence,” Ricky roused enough to say with a grin that would have been impish if it didn't look quite so pained.

“Fuck off, you freak,” Spencer grumbled, but it sounded almost fond. Hard times, strange bedfellows and all that.

Ricky then gave TJ a slightly wilted version of his crazy maniac smile, it made his eyes crinkle and his cheek dimple. TJ felt embarrassingly warm at the sight and tried his best to ignore it - these were the kind of friendship-y feelings that were getting him into trouble. When he got to the other jail, he was staying away from everyone. Especially those with grins that looked like crazy and sunshine and baffling affection.

“See you, TJ,” Ricky said, still smiling. “Thanks for all your help. You ever need us, we've got your back. You can contact us through your lawyer.”

“I don't have a lawyer,” TJ said.

“You do now.”

What the hell?

 

So, it turned out he _did_ have a lawyer; a stern faced woman with iron grey hair who reminded him uncomfortably of his terrifying 5 th grade teacher.

“Although I'm glad of your help Ms. Fletcher, I ain't exactly got enough money to pay for it,” TJ said, carefully. I mean, for shit’s sake her briefcase alone looked like it cost more than the bail he hadn't been able to pay.

“I'm aware of that Mr. Jeffries,” she said, her voice was warmer than her icy exterior would have indicated and TJ felt himself relax slightly. “In fact that's something I am here to discuss with you. But first may I inquire into your welfare? Are you being treated well, have you felt under threat from the staff or inmates?”

“It’s been fine. Positively cushy compared to South Haven. Wish I wasn't in PC though, people might think I'm a snitch. The streets not going to be safe once I get out.” TJ bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to be so honest.

“A necessity I'm afraid, but one we can circumnavigate, if you're willing.”

“How'd you mean?” TJ asked.

Ms Fletcher laid some papers out in front of him. A brochure for a posh looking outreach program up in Boston, and a bunch of forms. “There are several options for you to take, including none at all. But if you wanted to further your education, or perhaps gain an apprenticeship, we would be willing to fund it.”

“We? We who?” TJ squinted at her. What the fuck was even happening here?

“The Wayne foundation. Every year a number of placements are offered to offenders who are willing to change their lives. Fully funded, so long as you stick to the rules.”

“Wayne, like _Bruce_ Wayne?” TJ leaned back in his chair, head spinning. “Why me?” He didn't give her a chance to answer though, his mouth chucking out questions before his brain could catch up. “What's the catch? Am I signing my soul over or something?”

Ms. Fletcher smiled at him, like his verbal diarrhea was cute or something. “No catch – no second chances either though. You have to go all in: any arrests or trouble with the law will send you right back inside.”

“But why _me_?”

“That's not for me to say I'm afraid Mr. Jeffries. But perhaps your brave actions over the last month have earned you some positive attention as well as negative.”

TJ fidgeted, he hadn't been brave. Mostly he had screamed and hid and prayed. “Guess so,” he offered finally. “What do I have to do?”

Ms. Fletcher gave him another small smile. “You finish the next three months of your sentence, and get the following 12 months on license. During which time you live in the halfway house of your choice.” She tapped the brochures. “And you have the choice of going back to college or learning a trade. Either should help you into employment within a year or two. But you have to stay away from drugs and any trouble with the law. No stealing, no selling knock-off designer stuff, none of it - or you are right back inside. Got it?”

“Got it.” TJ felt dizzy. This was an opportunity he didn't really deserve, but his ma hadn't raised _that_ much of a fool – he was going to grab it with both hands. It wouldn't even be that hard; he wasn't an addict, he could give up the casual smoking and drinking he had indulged in before prison without much of a problem, and he sure as hell had incentive to stay out of trouble. No way did he want to end up back in jail after this shit.

“Good, I will make the arrangements.” Ms. Fletcher said.

“Thanks. I'm a bit shocked, but I'm grateful,” TJ said. “What about Spencer Morris? Does he get into a program too?”

“Mr. Morris's crimes are far more serious and violent than your own, and it would be unfair to his victims to release him early. However he will be moved and have his identity concealed, so he can live out his sentence in relative safety. And he will be offered educational courses if he wants them as well as anger management programs and treatment if he is willing. The Wayne foundation is a big supporter of rehabilitation, where possible, and if Mr. Morris is prepared to engage he will be offered further opportunities upon his release.”

“Cool,” TJ said. He hoped Spencer got his head out his ass and took them up on it, if he could put aside his racist violent douche-baggery he might almost be a decent human being. TJ wouldn't hold his breath though; some people were just born to be dickheads.

“What about Sean Wolff and Ricky Johnson?” he asked, finally.

“Who?” Ms. Fletcher replied, vaguely.

Yeah that was kind of expected. He had begun doubting himself with a little time and distance between him and the madness, but it was clear that neither Ricky nor Sean were who they said they were. TJ had half convinced himself his speculation about Sean being the Red Hood was complete bullshit. But... there was still a part of him that was damn certain he was right. The part of him that gibbered in fear when the man looked at him with that icy expression and when he was plowing though inmates and guards alike to get to his friend. And Ricky... Ricky was a puzzle. It was obvious he was not a killer in the way Sean was - in fact, everything he did seemed to be about helping people, saving people whether they deserved it or not. He and Sean didn't seem like people who would work together, but they clearly had. And sometimes it seemed like Ricky was in charge, or at least equal to Sean and who the hell was equal to the Red Hood? Didn't make any fucking sense. Not to mention the Wayne foundation and the lawyer and all this crap. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he was going to keep his trap shut about the whole lot. He suspected it would be bad for his health if he didn't.

“Never mind,” he replied. And he hoped he had managed to keep his face neutral.

Ms. Fletcher nodded and handed him a sealed white envelope. “This is for you. I will leave you to look over the information and return in an hour.” 

TJ nodded absently. The envelope said 'TJ' in neat block capitals, the paper felt heavy and expensive. He opened it.

 

TJ,

I hope this finds you well. 

I thought you might like to know that Ricky is fully recovered from his injures, and the Doc and her intrepid girl band are fine too. Ricky says hi, but he is making me write you, because he claims to have sprained both his wrists (lies) but I think mostly it is because he is an ass.

You ever need help, call the number below. If you can’t get through, call the second number; say Jay gave it to you. Someone will help. Of course I'm hoping you never need to call, as you will be too busy living a respectable, crime free life. Seriously, keep your nose clean, or I will hunt you down and eviscerate you. 

Sincerely,

Jay (Sean) & Ricky (Dickfaced asshole)

 

TJ got all those squishy friendship feelings again, but this time he didn't try to squash them down, and he grinned as he folded the paper carefully and put it in his pocket. He wasn’t sure if this meant he now had friends in high places, or low places – or both. But he was going to do his damnedest not to disappoint them.

 

 


	21. Aftermath: Nicola

 

The hours following the riot were foggy in Nicola's mind but, in a detached way, she was aware she was in shock.  She vaguely recalled answering questions she couldn't remember being asked and being interviewed by doctors, social workers, police and a bunch of white guys in suits. She had no idea if she gave them the answers they needed, or indeed if she had even been polite. She just wanted to get to her bed, cry, and then sleep for a week.  

Through it all she held onto Melissa's hand and let Sophia take point. The girl didn't make it known she was police, so Nicola and Melissa kept it to themselves too. Perhaps she was still undercover? Just how high did the corruption go?

Eventually, Nicola got her wish and was free to return to her apartment. She was too tired to feel jumpy, but she suspected by tomorrow she was going to have to deal with the emotional consequences of all that had happened. For now though, sleep was all she wanted.

 

She awoke to the sound of alarms, and panic raced up her spine. It took her a few gasping breaths to realise the sound was her door buzzer. It took a few minutes until she was able to climb shakily out of bed and answer the intercom.

“Hi, Dr Kay, it’s Sophia.” Sophia's voice was a welcome one and Nicola buzzed her in, not bothering to do more than throw a robe over her pyjamas.

Sophia looked unreasonably perky considering, with any bruises she had received in the scuffle artfully concealed. Nicola wondered how often she had to cover up like that to make her such an expert at it.  

“Hey, Dr. Kay. Got a minute?”

Nicola waved her in and went straight to the coffee machine, she was starting to wish there were spirits in the house - she had a feeling that she would be wanting her coffee Irish by the time they were done.

Sophia accepted the mug Nicola handed her and relaxed back in her chair. “How you holding up, Dr. Kay?” she asked.

“Nicola, please. When you survive a riot together, it’s first names only.”

“Fair enough! So, how are you holding up, Nicola?”

“Not sure. I survived, I feel okay, but time will tell. What about you?”

“I'm fine - a little tired.” Sophia said casually. Nicola felt she was fishing, perhaps wondering how much Nicola knew or had guessed about her.

“I suppose you get a lot of this sort of mayhem in your line of work?” Nicola said, dryly.

”My line of work? Whatever do you mean?”

“Don't play coy with me, girl. You're no more a nurse than I'm a cop. You and that Ricky Johnson were undercover together weren't you?”

“You're a very astute woman, Nicola,” Sophia said, carefully. “Yeah, we were. _A_ _re_. The investigation is still on-going, so we will be staying under the radar. If you're comfortable with that?”

Nicola nodded, pleased that she had bothered to ask for her silence and didn't just order it. It felt like they were the friends she had thought they were, and 'Sophia' wasn't just a role the girl had been playing.

“Have you heard anything about the prisoners that helped us? Or the staff that were caught up in the riot?” Nicola asked after a few stabilising sips of coffee. It was best to get the hard stuff out the way first.

“TJ, Morris and Wolff are all well, and are being looked after – they’re going to be transferred as soon as possible to prevent reprisals from inmates or staff. Ricky is fine too, although he is going to be out of the system while he recovers.” Sophia paused and chewed her lip. “There was quite a high casualty count I'm afraid. Three guards and eleven inmates. Forty-seven serious injuries, six of them staff.”

Nicola nodded. It was to be expected, but her feelings were very mixed on the subject. The deaths and debilitating injuries were appalling, and she was a doctor – it was her job to save people no matter what crimes they had committed, even if they were against _her_. That was fine in theory, but these were people who conspired to kill her, or were complicit in it. She wasn't sure how she honestly felt about that as a reality.

“It's okay to be angry, Nicola,” Sophia said, obviously reading some of her feelings on her face.  “Or to feel resentment or hate. It's human, and completely normal. Bottling it up or feeling guilty just makes it fester. Trust me, I know,” she grimaced, but her eyes were still soft and kind.

“You seem pretty wise beyond your years,” Nicola said. “I feel you've seen more in your life than you should. That saddens me.”

Sophia shrugged her shoulders. “I have, that's true. But I've seen tremendous good in people as well as the terrible things they do to each other. Helping people, and seeing that kindness  and bravery, makes it all worth it. That and the fact I get to kick ass while putting away the bad guys _and_ I look damn awesome in a uniform.” She grinned.

Nicola smiled back, and felt something loosen in her chest.

“More coffee?” Sophia suggested, waging her eyebrow and her cup in tandem. That girl drank coffee like it was her life's blood – Nicola could relate.

Nicola took her mug, but when she headed to the kitchen, Sophia followed, peering at the display of family pictures on the wall, a small smile on her lips.

“Do we know who was behind this?” Nicola asked as she ground more beans, not even sure she really wanted to know the answer.

“It goes as high as the governor I'm afraid.”

All the warm feelings drained out of her. That man had hired her, shaken her hand, taken her out to lunch to talk about her work. He had seemed kind, a decent man trying to do his best in a one of the poorer jails.

And then he had tried to have her killed. Had been complicit it the deaths of scores of inmates who had never been given the chance to better themselves. Nicola was suddenly furious. “That _bastard_ ,” she gritted out. Her hands seemed to be shaking. “That fucking _asshole_.”

Sophia gently took over with the coffee machine, ignoring both Nicola's rage and how close she was to tears. The non-reaction helped a bit, and Nicola took a couple of calming breaths.

“We want to avoid a trial,” Sophia said as she carried on preparing their drinks. “We have enough evidence to throw the book at the lot of them and you wouldn't _believe_ how willing they all were to snitch on each other.”

“Will it be enough?” Nicola asked. Not having to go through the whole sorry story in court would be such a blessing, and she fervently hoped they could find a way.

Sophia handed her a fresh, steaming mug. “They'll be offered individual plea deals, depending on the extent of their involvement. Once confronted with the evidence – of which there is a _lot_ \- it will be in their best interest to take the deals.”

“Are you certain? If there's any chance of wiggling out, I would expect them to take it.”

“ _Oh_ _yeah_ , there's plenty. Apart from the evidence collected during my investigation, and the vast amount of eyewitness accounts, the obnoxious Dr. Evergreen gathered his own evidence about the deaths he helped cover up.”

“So despite him being the one to send me the text to lure me in, he was one of the good guys?” Nicola asked doubtfully.

“Hardly. It seems although they were paying him to look the other way, there really is no honour among thieves and he collected information to save his own butt if things went horribly wrong and he needed a get out of jail free card.”

“That sounds more like the Evergreen I know and loath. _Is_ it a get out of jail free card? Will he get off scot free?”

Sophia grimaced. “That's the problem with making deals I'm afraid. He won’t get away completely free though. He _will_ see the inside of a jail, but most likely a minimum security place that houses the rich and the very lucky. But there will be other consequences too – he’ll be struck off for sure, and I know there will be a whole heap of relatives of the deceased who’ll suddenly have access to free legal advice and lots of incentive to sue.”

“Well, that's something I guess.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, then Sophia gave a loud sigh. “I guess I should be off. Thanks for the coffee – and all of your help.”

“Thank you, Sophia. I don't know what would have happened without you.”

Sophia gave her a warm hug and a small card with a number on it 'for emergencies'.  Nicola watched the other woman leave, and wondered if she would see her again.

 

She sat for a while in her empty kitchen, still in her nightclothes. What would she do now? Did she want to return to work at the jail? At a different jail? She had two weeks leave to decide, no need to rush things, but she had a feeling she would be going back. She had taken that job to help people, and just because some of them were murderous assholes, didn't mean people like TJ and even Wolff, and Morris, who had come out on the side of humanity, didn't deserve the respect and treatment she could offer.

But she had time to think about it, and in the meantime she had a life to live. She would get dressed, tidy up, call her mom, and then maybe see if Melissa wanted to meet for a coffee, or something stronger. Talking about it would probably do them both the world of good.

  



	22. Aftermath: Melissa

Melissa fidgeted with her Dictaphone.  She liked the old style ones.  Although it was digital it was purpose built and chunkier than the small sleek type she took to interviews. She hadn't taken one on her last visit, it didn't seem right.  Giving Theresa Martinez the details of her brother’s death had been horrible, but also cathartic. Theresa had been grateful that Melissa had come herself and, although she had been upset at the vague information Melissa had given her about the riot and the police operation - now covering its ass and cleaning up - mostly she had been angry.  Angry not just at the perpetrators, but also at all the people who had turned a blind eye and let the deaths continue. 

 

Melissa could well relate to that anger, but she also felt relief and comfort, knowing that there were people who did care, and were willing to take action to protect others, even those who might not deserve it. 

 

Case in point; Theresa had also informed her that she had been offered funds to pay for legal costs to sue over her brother’s death. It wouldn't bring him back, but having some form of justice might give her closure and might help her begin to heal. That was quite the gift to give a stranger and Melissa had been intrigued. She had looked into it further and found that Theresa wasn't alone – family members of other victims had also been offered assistance. And it seemed like they might even be able to settle out of court. 

 

Melissa looked carefully at her notes. It hurt the evidence gathering, scientific part of her brain to even consider destroying them, but some of the things she had seen and recorded could be potentially dangerous for certain parties, and she didn't want that. She owed her life to them. She couldn't go public with her suspicions or deviate at all from the official line. However, she did want to get it all out, for her own benefit. She needed to sort through her feelings and the way she tended to process things was to lay them out in front of her in an orderly fashion and work through in a practical fastidious kind of way. 

 

She switched on the Dictaphone. 

  
  


_ Nicola and I have stayed in touch, sometimes a shared experience can help heal the wounds it causes. We have spoken at great length about the things that happened and the run up to the riot.  Nicola is determined to put it behind her and move forward and while I agreed with that in regard to the people who tried to kill us, I found myself curious about the ones who helped us – despite the threat to themselves. _

 

_ I visited TJ in jail, he seemed younger than he did in South Haven, and I realised this was a TJ who was less afraid and perhaps happier. He seemed openly optimistic about his future and excited that he had been offered a deal with a lot of opportunity. It was very encouraging to see. When I asked him about the riots he was happy to talk to me, but said he would never repeat anything in court unless Ricky or Sean asked him to. And we both knew that was never going to happen. _

 

_ Still, it was refreshing, and his take on what had been going on in South Haven was insightful and filled in one or two gaps for me. It also opened up some further questions. I will come back to that shortly.  _

 

_ Next I visited Spencer Morris. I approached this one with some trepidation as I was not sure if he had helped us because it was the right thing to do, or that circumstances had made it so that was the best way for him to insure his survival. I suspected the latter, but perhaps it was a combination of the two. During our meeting I fancied he was slightly more contemplative than usual and he was certainly more polite, even asking after my health and recovery.  _

 

_ He was frustrated that he had been moved away from Wolff, and seemed to think they would have made a good team 'even if he was a queer’. I promised I would try to hunt the man down, just to put his mind at ease. I very much doubt I will ever find him though.  _

 

_ It was interesting to see that Morris's very objectionable views on race and sexuality, which were very present in a group environment, were conspicuously absent during this one-to-one session. There might be something worth exploring there, looking into the toxicity of those sort of group behaviors in prison, the way people insure togetherness by inciting hate of others. _

 

_ But I digress. Back to Wolff, and those questions I mentioned earlier.  _

 

_ Nicola thinks they were police, Sophia and Ricky Johnson. And that is a very good explanation for all the strange behavior they both showed and a good reason for them both to be there. But it doesn't explain Ricky and Wolff's friendship – and there was one there, it was only obvious during the riot, but it made all the strange behavior between them make sense. That and TJ's account of the fight; what Wolff did to protect his friend, and what Ricky was willing to do in turn. That's not a relationship born of convenience, that's real concern, real care.  _

 

_ Nicolas theory also explained why Ricky was gone from the system like he had never existed. But it didn't explain why I couldn't find Wolff. I was told paperwork had been lost in the chaos of the various transfers, but how could you lose such a dangerous prisoner? Everyone seemed happy with the explanation though, and keen to sweep it under the rug.  _

 

_ I have every intention of agreeing with Nicola, the majority of what she and Sophia say makes sense – or just enough to be plausible. But I have never seen cops fight they way Sophia and those boys did.  _

 

_ I grew up in Gotham. The ‘nice’ part, far away from crime ally and the seedier areas.  But I’ve seen people who fight like they that, seen them put themselves into harms way to protect those who would rather see them dead.  _

 

_ So I will do my best to forget their faces, and stick to the story.  _

 

_ That way, they will know they have my thanks.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	23. Aftermath: Jason

 

 

The doctor, had finally given Dick a proper examination. It had taken a while to get seen to, considering the fact that one of South Havens’ resident doctors was on leave and the other was under arrest. Dick had been roughly patched up and given some drugs for the pain and to stave off infection, but that was all.

When someone finally came to pick them up for their transfer, Jason's anxiety was strong enough to be sending him into a blind rage. They sat in the back of the van where they had been placed, still bound, with Dick slumped against him, his eyes shut and his breathing calm and even.

Jason was less calm: half of him wanted it to be Bruce driving the prison truck so he could just explode and punch his stupid indifferent face in; the other half of him was just too damn tired to give a fuck.

“I can literally feel you angsting, Jay,” Dick said, his voice quiet but not overly pained. “I'm fine, if that's what you're worried about. I just need to sleep for a week. Blood loss always tires me out.”

“I don't _angst_ ,” Jason said, without even thinking. He might brood a bit, but angst was just so _Tim_. And even if he was a little on the twitchy side today, he had damn good reasons. “What if he'd nicked an artery, Dick?”

“He didn't.”

Jason's jaw has so tense his teeth were hurting. “He _could_ have. It was a crazy, unacceptable risk!” And that was it right there, the thing making his rage bubble: It wasn't Bruce sending Dick undercover to a place he wasn't suited to – in truth, Dick had done about as well as Jason had. And it wasn't the way Jason couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened to Dick in the recent past to create that feeling of fear he was emoting all over the prison or if Bruce knew about it before sending Dick into a violent jail full of predators... and okay, maybe that part was pissing him off a fair bit.

But the truth was, the person he was truly angry at was himself. He could cope with Dick going off half-cocked – that's just what Dick did, and he was skilled and smart enough to make it work for him. But that was not how Jason rolled. He liked to plan and contingency plan, there was no excuse for the mistakes that nearly got Dick killed.

Jason should have anticipated the possible change in gang dynamics and he should have factored in Kevin and the other prisoners in solitary. And he probably shouldn't have antagonised Williams the way he had. He had two black eyes and a broken nose to assert to that.

“Jason, stop it, you're stressing me out and you're not even talking or trying to punch me.” Dick broke into his self-flagellating internal monologue. His blue eyes were squinting up at Jason through their own ring of bruises. He looked like a pissed off kitten. Not threatening in the least, and Jason tensed up again, helplessly going over everything that had gone wrong and how much of it had been because of his own lackluster planning.

“Oh my God, Jason. Fucking quit it!” _Now_ Dick looked threatening. He sat up a bit and intensified his glare. “Shit goes wrong, shit _always_ goes wrong – we deal with it. And we did deal with it, there was some unpleasantness and a couple of close calls, but we both made it out and did what we came to do.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, and he made a conscious effort to relax his muscles. Dick always responded well to body language.

“Anyway,” Dick continued, relaxing against Jason's side again, his weight a warm, comforting presence. “We worked well together, I thought – we should do it again.”

“Hell no! Do you have any idea how Goddamn stressful you are? You're a fucking menace!” Jason huffed. Then he caught sight of the edge of a smile playing around Dick's lips.

Distracting.

Which was probably the point.

Jason realized the van had stopped and he couldn't help jumping when the door banged open. It took a moment to place the woman in the black wig, but Dick clearly knew her right away, because of course he did.

“Hey Kate!” Dick said far more cheerful than should be possible in his battered state.

“Hello, boys,” Kate - _Batwoman_ \- gestured for them to get out the van.

Jason realized that Dick had slipped his cuffs and was already carefully scrambling out, his movements made awkward by his leg wound. “Are you a sight for sore eyes!” Dick was saying and Jason paused in the process of freeing himself from the cuffs in order to wonder if he was being flirtatious (rather pointlessly, considering) or if he was just being Dick. And to tramp down on a very inappropriate flash of jealousy in response to the thought.

Jason eased his aching body out of the van and stood blinking on the tarmac of a deserted parking lot. It seemed sort of anticlimactic.

Dick was waving his arms as he told Kate of their misadventures, no doubt a watered down version of the last week. She looked amused rather than concerned, so perhaps the pair of them didn't look quite as bad as he felt. Or maybe the bar for 'looks terrible' was so damn low in their family you had to have one foot in the grave before you were cut any slack.

Then Kate chucked something at him, breaking him free from his daze and he managed to catch it without embarrassing himself any. The keys to his bike. He really should be pissed off about that, but he was just too tired to care - he would add it to the list of shit to be mad about tomorrow.

Then, Kate and the van were gone and it was just him and Dick in the dim light of the parking lot, holding their respective keys.

Jason realized he didn't want to let Dick leave. He told himself it was just because he wanted to be sure he really was safe and on the road to recovery. Never mind that he had plenty of people who would want to watch over him.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Dick said.

“You say a lot of stuff, Dick, you'll have to be a bit more specific.”

Dick shrugged and tossed his keys from hand to hand, a nervous motion. “We worked well together. Well, most of the time. We helped patch over each other’s weak spots.”

Jason bit down on the angry tirade that wanted to spill out of his mouth – the stress of working in that environment with Dick was no laughing matter. But he was also kind of right, they did compliment each other.

“Yeah, well,” he said eloquently and resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. “We do, I guess. Just not in a situation like that again, got it? Daddy gives you another assignment like that you damn well come talk to me before plunging in head first.”

“I will,” Dick said, shocking Jason into momentary silence. Dick grinned impishly at him. “If you do the same. Even if it's wasn't me, you should have had back up – or at least let someone know.”

“Do you think Bruce didn't? Is there anything we do he doesn't monitor?” Jason wondered aloud. The thought hadn't occurred to him before, but it suddenly made sense - and by the narrowed look in Dick's eyes, it made sense to Dick too. In the end, it didn't matter if Dick was sent in as unwitting back up for Jason, or Bruce had known Jason was there and trusted he would back up Dick; either way it was typical fucking Bruce, meddling and moving them around like pawns. The anger that filled Jason was familiar, a shade of Bruce related rage he had experienced from the first day he had met the man. But there was a bitter sense of pride too, even though Jason hated it. The idea that Bruce might trust him with something like this, that he had earned that trust and had fulfilled the role Bruce had set for him was a heady confused one that made his heart hammer in his chest.

God, Jason hated that proud needy feeling. Anger was so much better. He added it to his list of shit to deal with tomorrow; sleep was number one now.  “You want to crash at mine?” His mouth asked without his brain’s permission, and suddenly he was damn glad of the bruises covering his face that helped hide his blush.

One of Dick's eyebrows shot up comically, in that annoying way he had of making a stupid face and still looking attractive. “I thought you'd had enough of me?” he asked, teasing.

Jason struggled through his tired and flustered mind to find a reply that was both witty and not too revealing. He failed. “Shut up,” he said instead, and flushed harder.

Dick was openly grinning at him, but there was a strange wistfulness there too. “Sometimes I forget what a dork you are, Jay. Not even death and resurrection can knock the goofball out of you it seems.”

“Wow, mood killed, Dick-Dick,” Jason smirked back, finally finding part of his brain that could give as good as he got.

Dick chuckled, “Nah, that's just banter. _This_ is the mood killer: I have to go touch base with B and debrief with Steph. I appreciate the offer of company though. You could always come with me instead, if you felt up to it?”

“I'll pass.” The edge of anger bubbled up again at the mention of Bruce, at the idea of seeing him. But he was too tired to fully let rip, so he just shrugged. “It’s your loss, you get to go argue with the Boss man while I have 10 day old pizza just sitting in my fridge waiting to be eaten. Got some leftover potato salad too.” 

“I can't tell you how tempted I am by that, Jay. Maybe later.” Dick gave him a tight hug, in that unconcerned way he had – touching came easy to him. Affection came easy and didn't seem to make him feel vulnerable. Jason hugged him back awkwardly, with stiff arms that felt clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Thanks for your help, Jay. I don't think I could have done it without you,” Dick said.

Jason nodded, unsure what to say. Having one of the Bats thank him for his help was a new one on him.

“I have one question,” Dick said, reaching up and gently touching Jason's bruised face with his cool fingers. “Why did Williams turn on you? He was kissing your ass so much I thought he might have lost gold tooth up there or something. And then wham, baton to the face, Rat of the Bat, excreta.”

“What a lovely turn of phrase you have, Dick.” Jason shifted his feet a bit. It was an awkward and revealing question. But a fair one. “He didn't like you -” Jason began and Dick laughed,

“So what, you defended my honor?” he laughed again, incredulously this time. “You did, didn't you? Oh my god, Jason, all your lecturing about behaving and playing by the rules and you do something so daft?” Dick seemed to be almost giddy with glee over Jason's foolishness.

“Yeah, well if you hadn't gotten yourself noticed then I wouldn't have had to would I? He wanted to give you a personal beating, it would have incapacitated you.”

“And what did you do to stop him?”

“I may have implied that he had a bit of a thing for me. Seeing as he, as you most delicately put it, was half way up my ass all the time. He didn't take the insinuation well.”

“Your natural charm at work, I'm sure.”

“I learnt from the best.”

“My hero,” Dick blew him a kiss as he walked to his bike. He swung on to the seat with only a small wince as he settled, and revved the engine. He waved a hand as he rode away.

Jason stood and watched the space he had been in for a long moment, then turned his aching body towards his own bike, parked in the shadows.

 

Jason went home and slept, without even bothering to take off more than his shoes. It was a sleep of pure exhaustion and he didn't dream. He didn't feel much refreshed when he woke, some twelve hours later, still stinking of blood and jail. Still, he was comforted by being in a place he considered home. He didn't keep any of the things he considered precious here, but it was a nice apartment and he enjoyed adding his own personal touches to it.

Jason's face hurt where Williams had clocked him and his knuckles were screaming at him after all the wild punches he had thrown. He needed to wrap them and tend to his many other injures, but first he had a date with a shower. Then order take out – he hadn't been kidding about the state of his fridge.

The shower was hot and powerful, the water beat and boiled the building anger out of him, relaxing muscles that had been tense from the first moment he had seen Dick across the prison yard. He could maybe admit to himself that, although he'd had an instant premonition of doom when he had spotted the moron dressed like an inmate and breaking all the rules, he had been glad of the help. Glad it was Dick, in a way. And very glad of the way it had felt to push Dick up against the wall of the cell and make him call Sean 'boss'. Jason's favorite part had been the way Dick had stared him down the whole time, promising retribution for the humiliation. He had quite liked the way Dick had slammed him against the wall in turn, pulled his arm up tight and leaned his weight painfully against Jason's back. But he might have to tuck that one away to be examined later, when he wasn't so sore and tired. As it was, his cock only gave the smallest of interested twitches before it gave up.

 

After his shower he dried himself vigorously but carefully, walked naked into the living room - and froze mid-step. Dick was standing by the kitchen counter, bag of take-out in one hand and what looked like a Pakora halfway into his mouth. The stared at each other for a shocked moment. Then Dick's gaze slid down Jason's body and Jason felt a flush rise up in response. He hated his stupid fair skin for how easily it showed blushes – and he really went for it too, bright red like a damn tomato.

“I brought food?” Dick offered, he didn't sound the slightest bit abashed by the situation. In fact the way he was giving Jason a very thorough once over while contemplative chewing his half eaten snack was making Jason's cock twitch again. Jason refused to show any further sign of embarrassment in return so he stretched, casual like and flexed, just a little. Dick dropped crumbs on his nice clean floor but Jason caught sight of an answering splash of pink in his cheeks. _Take_ _that_.

Small victory aside, the smell of the Indian take-out had reminded him that he was both ravenous and that he had eaten nothing but prison slop for over a week. “Lemme go put on some pants,” he said, gesturing towards the bedroom. “Plates in the cupboard on the right.”

“Don't bother on my account,” Dick said, and Jason could _feel_ his eyes track him as he moved to the bedroom. His stiff and torn knuckles ached as he gracelessly attempted to tug on some sweats. After a moment of consideration, he decided against a t shirt and headed back out barefoot and bare chested.

Dick was opening containers and slopping food all over Jason's nice clean counter-top, but he did pause to give Jason a wry smirk. “I got your favorites,” he said, as he handed over a plate. “At least I think I did. You used to like them.”

“Still do, thanks,” Jason said, as he took in all the food arrayed before him – there was a lot, more than even his appetite could reasonably contend with, and Dick had chosen well. It was strangely warming that he had taken into account Jason's love of Indian food, and had actually remembered the dishes he preferred. It helped ease the pain of watching a blob of brightly colored Chicken Tikka dribble from Dick's tilted plate and onto the carpet while he leaned across the counter to snatch up a Naan.

“Try not to cover my whole apartment in curry, Dick,” Jason said, keeping it casual. Dick nodded sympathetically, dislodging a glob of Aloo Saag, which slid slowly down the side of the breakfast bar.

Jason gave up trying to save his décor from Dick's careless eating, and tucked into his own meal.

The food was so good it took his mind almost completely off why Dick might be in his apartment in the first place, but after consuming more than was probably good for either of them, they kicked back on Jason's pale grey sofa. Dick had waved off a beer stating he didn't have enough room left but Jason was sipping contentedly at his own.

“Not that I don't appreciate the food, Dick-Face, but why you here?” He asked at last.

Dick, sprawled all over his end of the sofa with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his full belly, shrugged and then winced as some minor injury made itself known. “I felt sorry for you with only moldy pizza for company,” he said, at last.

Jason snorted. “Don't forget the potato salad. That shit managed to keep its shape and everything. Didn't smell that great though.” 

“Ah, sorry. Mustn't offend the potato by leaving it out of the narrative.” Dick's eyes were barely open.

“So you took pity on the me due to the contents of my fridge? Is that just your way of saying you felt sorry for me?”

“Nah, sorry for myself maybe. I wanted company, and I thought we could hang out. Also I was hungry and it gave me a good excuse to get food from my favorite take-out this side of town.”

“You couldn't have called first? Knocked on the door?”

“Glad I didn't.” Dick opened one eye and leered at him half-heartedly. 

Jason shifted under his gaze. It was hard to mistake the way Dick was behaving with him but, at the same time, he was unclear if Dick was just messing the way had been in jail, or if there was something more serious behind it. Jason wanted to just go for it, but the idea of Dick turning him down was just too humiliating.

The problem was, Dick seemed content to just flirt with a certain wry affection and not make his intentions clear. It was going to drive Jason up the wall - he liked knowing where he stood about stuff. If he didn't his mind just went round and round, going over the same shit again and again.

“Got a good scowl going there,” Dick said, into what must have been an awkwardly long silence.

Jason grunted, and scowled a bit more. Once he got an anxious thought in his head, his brain became his own worst enemy, and latched onto it like a terrier with a rat.

So,” Dick said, after another long pause. “I couldn't help but notice that in the jail, you were playing your part in regards to me very well. Like, very well.”

That shocked Jason out of his internal battlefield. Apparently they _were_ going to talk about it after all. But Jason wanted it on his terms, not phrased like he might have been taking advantage or taking liberties. Had he been? It was a worry. “I don't know what you mean,” he said, slowly, trying to give himself more time to regroup and think things though.

“Jay, I'm not trying to cause problems, but stuff happened and I think we should talk about it. Maybe see where we stand?”

Which was exactly what Jason had wanted two minutes ago, before it became a reality. “What stuff?” he asked guardedly.

“Like the stuff in the shower. I'm sorry I offended you, by the way.”

Jason felt himself blush for the umpteenth time, that evening. “You didn't. My thoughts just got a bit derailed. I got angry about something else.”

“Because you have nothing to be ashamed of, believe me,” Dick grinned at him and waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously.

It lightened the mood slightly, but Jason still felt tense. “Are we done? Was that us talking about 'stuff?'”

Dick frowned at him, his mouth pulling down. “Why do you always have to be so damn difficult, Jay?”

Jason didn't answer – he wasn't even _trying_ to be difficult! He was just hoping to avoid awkwardness and hurt. So far he was not doing very well. And he was distracted at how Dick's scowl made his forehead wrinkle like an angry puppy.

“Jason? Stop staring at my face and talk to me. Or tell me to leave. I will if you want, no hard feelings.”

“And if I don't want?”

“That's the question isn't it?” Dick said with a sigh and he flopped back against the couch cushions. “I mean I figured there was a something going on in the jail, but if it was just the situation or something else then tell me and I'll never mention it again.”

Dick shifted a bit, looking at him carefully, attempting to read him like a damn book. Jason hated that. “Just say what's on your mind, Dick, so we can pretend this awkward-ass conversation never took place.” 

“When you had me up against the wall, with a blade to my throat, you were hard. I could feel it. There was something between us, I thought. Or the potential for it.”

“I’m going to ignore that double entendre,” Jason said, his voice suddenly a bit hoarse.

“Oh, you know what I mean, you ass.”

“That being shoved around and threatened turns you on?” He had thought it was only him feeling that particular fission between them.

“Yeah. If I'm with someone I trust. And you proved me right didn't you? You pulled your punches when it counted. Protected me where you could. Let me do my bit for you in return. I've started relationships from worse places.”

Jason didn't doubt it. And he agreed, he really did. It was kind of a dream come true – but one of those ones that could turn into a nightmare if he put a foot wrong. So instead of saying that, or nodding or making some sort of signal, he said the worst thing possible, because he liked to fuck himself over whenever he could, apparently.

“You don't find the family connection creepy?” Jason himself didn't. He had never considered Dick as a sibling, not really. He had been an ideal, a source of awe and fierce jealousy. Maybe if they'd had more time, or if Bruce had not been fighting with Dick so much.

Dick was looking at him seriously, considering. Jason opted to wait him out.

“Does it seem strange, or wrong to you?” Dick asked, at last. “Because if so, I swear I will never bring it up again. The last thing I want to do is drive a bigger wedge between us.”

“It doesn't bother me. I was just wondering if it weirded you out any. You're the one who always referred to me as your brother.”

Dick nodded and sat up a bit, clearly collecting his thoughts. “I loved the little boy that you were, as family. And had things been different, I would have considered you a brother in all senses of the word.”

“Don't kid yourself with words like love. You tried, eventually. But you didn't even like me back then.”

“I did. You were an annoying, outfit-stealing, home-wrecking upstart, but I liked you plenty. When I got over myself a bit, anyway.”

Jason snorted. “How was I a homewrecker? You had already stomped off into the great wide yonder by the time I arrived!”

“Don't harsh my righteous indignation, buttface.”

“Buttface? Really?”

“Yes. Anyway my point is, my affection for you was complicated by jealousy and anger at Bruce, and the fact we didn't spend much time together. But the time we did spend, was time where I saw a boy I would be proud to call my family.”

“You are such a sap,” Jason said, but his throat felt tight. He realized they had never had this conversation, never talked about what could have been. Jason wasn't honestly sure what he felt about it.

“You were this scrappy kid with all this bravado and pluck, but with so much compassion for those done wrong.” Dick continued, relentlessly.

“You make me sound like a I belong in a fucking Dickensian novel,” Jason muttered.

Dick ignored him, tilting his nose into the air primly. “A boy with ridiculous curls, who loved to read the classics and also cheesy romance novels-”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did. I remember it well. You had a love of cheesy romance novels, and chilli-dogs and Indian food. Then that boy died, and it broke my heart.”

“I'm not that little boy any more.”

“I know. You came back, but you came back different.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, like he wasn't the only one of their family to really accept it. “But the thing is, Jay, even though you may have changed, you might still have grown from that angry, sweet little boy to the man you are today. What happened to you shaped who you are now and how you see yourself, but the core of you is still you.” He paused and shot Jason a smirk “An asshole, mostly.”

“Thanks, Dick. You give these motivational speeches to everyone or am I just special?”

“You're not that special, Jay. You're an asshole who is pedantic about keeping stuff clean and over plans - reminds me of someone, can't think who. And you will fight and risk death for those in need, and that tells me all I need to know. You've grown into a man I love, one way or another. It will never be what it was or what it could have been, if things had been different. But I thought maybe we can find a new thing to be to one another.”

“We aren't always on the same side, Dick. That's not a good basis for a relationship.”

“Probably not. But I'm not really that sensible when it comes to this shit. Whatever happens though, you _are_ my family, even if you do things I hate, or if one day we find ourselves on opposite sides for real.”

“ _Such_ a sap. But that sort of thinking can get you killed, Dick.”

“You wouldn't kill me,” Dick said, giving Jason an annoyingly soulful look.

“Dick, when I'm in a rage I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.”

“I'll bear that in mind. But I would never give up on you. For a start, you own me dinner.”

Jason found himself smiling, despite his trepidation. He was not going to do the sensible thing and turn Dick down. He should... but there was no way. “I owe you dinner, but you owe me clean carpets.” Not to mention the stains on his pristine cabinets.

“You wanna take it out in trade?”

There was that eyebrow wag again. Jason was going to shave those things off if Dick kept using them as offensive weapons. But later. Dick was smiling at him, waiting for an answer, so he nodded.

Dick didn't hesitate and he clambered to Jason's side of the sofa and slid into his lap.

Jason grunted as Dick's not inconsiderable weight lent heavy on his belly, still full from the earlier feast, but then Dick's tongue was in his mouth, with the lingering taste of spice, and Jason's hands had found their way around his back, holding him a little desperately. Dick hummed approval and his hips started a gentle rolling motion. How the guy could contemplate sex after the exhausting emotionally fraught week they had just had Jason wasn't sure. Maybe it was just he way of coping.

It definitely wasn't Jason's, but somehow his hands had moved down to Dick's' ass and were moving him, setting a rhythm.

Dick moaned into his mouth, soft and barely audible and grabbed at Jason's hair. Then pulled back a bit, to grin at him. “Are we just going to dry hump like a pair of teenagers?” he asked, breathless. He pretty much looked like every wet dream Jason had ever had.

“Yeah, I think so,” Jason said, stupidly. He didn't have the strength for anything more vigorous, or, apparently, enough blood left for both his brain and his cock.

Dick seemed to agree and he laughed wildly, still moving his hips. “I can work with that, Jay-Bird.” He leaned forward running his tongue over Jason's ear and making shivers shoot across his skin. “Next time, when you’re feeling _up_ to it-”

Jason snorted and pushed his hips up, making Dick's breath catch.

“Playing dirty, Jay?” Dick's eyes narrowed, and his mouth curved into a sly gin. Jason felt his heart bang against the inside of his chest in response. “Next time, perhaps you might want to bend me over the sofa and fuck me so hard I can still feel it the following day?” He rolled his hips again and Jason bucked helplessly into the motion.

“Or maybe,” Dick continued, “maybe, I'll lay you out on my bed, lick into you until you're squirming under me, and then fuck you slow and hard? That more your cup of coffee?”

Jason grabbed at him, grinding up hard, the friction sending him spiraling towards release. He bit down hard on Dick's neck as he came. Dick responded with a flurry of movement, working his hips and squeezing Jason's legs with his strong thighs. Jason was probably going to regret everything when he finally came down from the glorious high he was coasting on, but for now he was content just to enjoy it.

 

Finally, Dick stirred against him “I'm gonna need to borrow some pants, Jay,” he muttered into the skin of Jason's neck, and Jason shivered.

His body ached, his bruises felt like they had bruises, but Jason felt strangely light and at ease. “I haven't come that fast since I was fifteen and jerking off on your ridiculous disco costume,” he said, only half joking. He really had jerked off to that thing – just not on it.

“Kinky. Still have it somewhere, you want me to dig it out and give you a show?”

“Could we do an outfits though the years thing? I liked the one with the cute blue-topped boots.”

Dick smiled against his throat. “ As long as you do yours – that dildo headed monstrosity with the white-get up means you never, ever have the right to mock my wardrobe choices.”

“I was having a breakdown, Dick. Cut me some slack.”

“That's no excuse. There _is_ no excuse for that outfit, _none_.” Dick pulled back and grinned at him, planting a kiss on his lips. “I like you like this - post orgasm is a state that suits you. I'm going to have to work to keep it up.”

“I approve of this plan. But first, another shower and a change of pants.”

Dick nodded and slid off his lap, peeling his shirt off as he headed for the shower. “Up for round two?” He asked.

 

Later, while they waited for Dick's soiled clothes to go through the wash, and Dick dozed on the sofa, drowning in Jason's oversized hoodie and not wearing much else, Jason found himself contemplating the future. It wasn’t something he liked to indulge in – not unless he was planning something work related - but he knew continuing this thing was not going to be easy. He wasn't an easy person, and his anger made him dangerously volatile. Not to mention the fact Dick was fucking impossible most of the time, and had his own spiteful, angry side hidden under the easy smiles and affection. They were going to be explosive together, and it wasn't beyond possibility that any attempt to maintain this relationship would end in bloodshed.

But for once, Jason thought he didn't really care. He would give it a shot; he had a feeling it would be worth it.

  

-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been with me on this wild ride! I hope you enjoyed it  
> And Thank you so much for all your wonderful encouraging comments! I am sorry, I haven’t been able to answer them all – but I have cherished every single one! 
> 
> And lastly thank you to pentapus for being so patient – sorry it took so long! (a whole year, whoops!)


End file.
